The Last Son
by hyvnn
Summary: He was born with the sun in his right hand, and the moon in his left.
1. Prophecy

**Author's Note's: **I've recently fallen in love with Game of Thrones…

This is probably one of my favorite T.V. series at the moment. I've never read the books, but I've done considerable research on the show, so I'm hoping that will be enough.

I've always had the idea of Asura and Indra coming together in a single host, having that as the end of their transmigration. Naruto and Sasuke were the last two links in the chain, and we are now at the end of the chain, where the last two links meet. The universe of Game of Thrones and Naruto are the same, the Naruto aspect of that universe having occurred thousands of years ago. So technically, this is an OC story, but I'm going to have that OC be equal parts Naruto and Sasuke, since they were the last links.

If you've read my other work, you should know that I don't do "weak" characters. This isn't about how the protagonist finds his strength at the end of the story, having everything before that about him struggling in everything he does. This is about the last reincarnation of the Sage of Six Paths sons and his story. Focus on the interactions and badassery, because Marcus Baratheon is going to be one badass, OP character.

I will follow the Game of Thrones storyline as much as possible, but it will inevitably, for obvious reasons, differ from what you've seen. There will be aspects of Naruto sprinkled throughout the fic, no doubt. So sit back, relax, and enjoy.

* * *

The Last Son

Chapter One – Prophecy

* * *

Victory was not what Robert Baratheon thought it would be like, at all. The Targaryen scum was off the Iron Throne, and King's Landing was now his. House Baratheon was now the royal family, and all of Westeros bent the knee to him in fealty. The last of the Targaryens where running away to Dragonstone, and would soon be dealt with when Stannis – his younger brother – took it for his own. His greatest friend and best general, Eddard Stark was going to take his father's place as Lord Paramount of the North and Lord of Winterfell, his birthplace. Jon Arryn accepted the position of Hand of the King, and would help guide Robert through his rule, like he always did, even when he and Ned were still just children.

He had it all. The Seven Kingdoms bowed to him as the one true King, and the Iron Throne was his alone to sit upon. Yet, he felt like he still lost.

The love of his life and Ned's sister, Lyanna, didn't make it. Slain by the Mad King before Jaime Lannister, a member of the Kingsguard, put his sword through the Targaryen's back. She was his everything, Lyanna. She was the reason he fought so hard, so brutally. He cut down Rhaegar Targaryen in battle singlehandedly. He took her from him, so he took his life. He united the Baratheon's, Stark's, Arryn's, Tully's, and the bloody Lannister's under his command, for her. He defeated the Last Dragon, for her. Yet even still, the gods took her away from him.

He lost everything.

Or so he thought.

Alone in the Throne Room, the now King Robert Baratheon sat on the most powerful chair in the world, as tears freely fell down his face. He was in the dark, and he would not let the gods judge him for mourning the woman he loved more than anything else, not when they were the ones who took her away from him. All his power, all his possessions, all his victory's, all of it meant nothing now. He couldn't share it with her, so what was the point? He won the war, but he lost the only thing that was actually important.

"Robert!" a voice rang behind the doors that led into the Throne Room.

The King chuckled softly, no humor in his tone. "Isn't it "Your Grace", now?" He whispered cynically.

"Robert Baratheon, you open these damn doors now!" The voice of Jon Arryn was even louder than before. Speaking to him like Jon usually did when they were kids snapped Robert out of his pity, causing the warrior inside him to bleed out.

Standing with a snarl, Robert rushed the doors he locked himself behind, his face twisted in rage, a mask for his sorrow and loss. "Speak to me like that again and I'll cut your tongue from your mouth and shove it down your throat, old man!" He yelled as he reached for the door, opening them easily with his raw strength. He opened his mouth to continue to scold and threaten his mentor, but the moment he saw what was in his arms, the new King froze.

"You were saying, boy?" Jon asked with a knowing smirk on his face.

"… Whose child is that, Jon?" Robert asked. His heart seemed to stop and speed up all at the same time, and his mouth became dry.

The smile that lit the new Hand of the King's face made Robert swallow hard. He looked just like her… he had her eyes. "This is your son, Robert. Yours and Lyanna's son." The words sent chills down his spine, and his hands shook.

"That's impossible. She…" the words disappeared in his throat. He couldn't say it. He couldn't say that she was no longer among the living.

"We found her journal, Robert. She wrote about him, about you. She became pregnant the last time the two of you were together, and gave birth to him not three months ago." Jon placed a hand on Robert, a smile still on his face. "You have a son, my boy."

The feeling of being all alone was slowly vanishing, being replaced by a new emotion. Lyanna was gone… he would never feel her gentle touch again. He would never taste her lips against his again. With those thoughts, Robert felt as if he would rather die and be with her, than be without. The colors faded, and everything was bathed in the darkness of his sorrow. But now… as the broken man looked on into the pure black eyes of his son… of Lyanna's son… the colors seemed to come back. Just staring into the eyes of a newborn gave him more hope and courage than having his entire army at his back, or Eddard Stark at his side.

Robert slowly reached out, silently telling Jon to give him the boy, and he did. And the moment he had his son in his arms, the broken man was broken no longer. The broken man was now King Robert Baratheon, a man who ended the Targaryen rule that had lasted for centuries in a single year. The babe had been crying the entire time he was in Jon's arms, but the moment Robert touched him, he was silent. Big, onyx eyes looked up at the King, an already curious face about him.

Robert laughed, loudly. "My son will grow up to be a fine man!" He shouted to the seven heavens, as if mocking the gods. "Lyanna lives on in this boy!" His eyes drifted from the sky to his first son. "And I dare you to try and take him from me…" he whispered with so much fierce and determination, Jon Arryn was taken aback.

Jon wasn't sure how Robert would take knowing that a child was born from him and Lyanna now that she was dead. Whatever he had in mind, this was not it. Robert looked at the boy with the eyes of a father, a true father, and for Robert, that was a scary thing. The Baratheon started an all-out civil war against a dynasty that had been in place for hundreds of years, and won. And for the man's son…

He would probably burn the world to ash if anything threatened him.

"Well, the boy needs a name." Jon began, deciding to protect the child so nothing catastrophic would happen. He raised Robert and Eddard, what was one more?

"He already has a name, Jon." Robert spoke, his eyes never leaving the boy's. "Marcus. That's what Lyanna wanted a son born from us to be named… Marcus Baratheon."

Jon's eyes widened. "You're giving him your family name?"

Robert chuckled, which was the opposite of what Jon thought he'd do. "This boy is no bastard… We might not have been married in the eyes of the gods, but in our hearts, and the hearts of those who knew how we felt about each other, we were every bit as married as anyone… And fuck the gods..." He whispered the last bit, but it was loud enough for Jon to hear.

After a moment of contemplating his new King's decision, Jon sighed. He was tired and getting old. "Young Marcus Baratheon it is, then. Now let's just pray he's nothing like you."

Robert and Jon locked eyes for a moment, and then the two suddenly burst into laughter, their voices filling the Throne Room like thunder. And then it happened.

Marcus giggled alongside them, his little face expressing nothing but childish happiness. His giggles stopped the men's laughter. The King and the Hand of the King just stared at the black-haired youngling with an expression of wonder. But that did not deter the babe. He just kept giggling, holding onto his daddy's finger.

And that was the first day Jon saw it in years.

The tears of Robert Baratheon fell freely once more.

Neither Robert nor Jon seemed to notice the two distinct markings on the boy' palms. Not the sun-shaped mark on his right – or the crescent moon-shaped mark on his left.

* * *

Being King was not at all what Robert Baratheon thought it would be like.

Half a million people looked to him for guidance, and that was in King's Landing alone. There was no easy, quiet day. There was always someone, somewhere, who needed him to hold their hand. It was starting to get on Robert's nerves.

All the people in the kingdom couldn't amount to the kind of irritation Cersei Lannister could muster up within him, though. The woman was beautiful, there was no doubt, but she was not Lyanna, and she never would be. Lyanna Stark was his one true love, and Robert only married her to reward the Lannister's for sacking King's Landing for him during his rebellion, and only then because Jon Arryn, his Hand of the King, convinced him to. She was too smart for her own good, and he was smarter than she thought him to be. He could see the way she looked at his son, at Lyanna's son. Marcus was his reminder. With him, Robert would never forget the love of his life, he would never forget Lyanna, and that did not sit well with Cersei.

Robert wasn't worried, though. The Queen, along with everyone else, knew that if anyone tried to harm his first born son, he'd make them wish for the release only death could give them. It had been a constant argument between the two of them for a while. Cersei and the rest of the Lannister's were outraged that he would give his bastard son his surname. Thankfully, that would stop very soon. The annoying woman was pregnant, and would give birth any day now. It angered him, incredibly so, but after speaking with Jon, Robert decided to name his second son his heir when he was born, not Marcus. He hated politics, but he knew of its importance.

And by the looks of it, Marcus wouldn't need to be King. He was already walking – hell, already running. The boy was fast for his age, and coordinated beyond belief. He was definitely not like other children, not at all. He would stare at people, watch them, and observe them. His son was smart.

"Your Grace!" Robert's musings were interrupted by the sound of Jon's voice. All he wanted to do was sit in his study and eat his lunch with his son, but he was King, and a King's duty was never over.

"Yes, yes, come in." Robert shouted at the door, his tone showing his annoyance.

The Hand of the King entered with a nervous expression. "Robert," Jon began, always using his first name when in private, "You must come with me." His tone was just as on edge, which let Robert know something was up.

"What's wrong with you, Jon? I haven't seen you this uptight since… well; I've never actually seen you this uptight before, come to think of it." Robert chuckled, his face already red from the wine.

"Just come with me, boy! This is serious." Jon snapped. Robert was taken aback for a moment, not having been talked to like that for a long while. Jon sighed. "I apologize… but you really need to come with me. And bring Marcus with you."

Robert sighed, nodding. He'd humor his old mentor. "Fine, fine…" he groaned. Standing up, the King gestured for his son to follow. "Come, Marcus. Uncle Jon is in need of our presence." Marcus smiled, nodding. The little boy jumped up from his chair and ran at his father, holding onto his pant leg.

* * *

Robert Baratheon sat on the Iron Throne, wondering what he was doing there.

"For what reason was I needed here, Jon?" the King asked.

Jon just waved to the guards at the doors, ordering them to let someone pass. And from the doors, twenty people in white gowns emerged, and everyone knew who they were, especially the man who led them.

"Your Grace, I thank you for seeing us on such short notice." The High Septon bent his knee, bowing to his King. "If it weren't urgent, I would not demand your presence so quickly." Rising, the High Septon gave a look in the direction of the Queen, Cersei Lannister, who had a large belly.

"What urgent matter do you speak of?" Robert asked.

"… It's your son, Your Grace… There's… been a prophecy." King's Landing's religious leader spoke, Cersei caressing her enlarged stomach.

Robert sighed. He still had no faith in the gods, not after Lyanna was taken away from him. He hated them, and defied them at every chance. They would not have any more family of his.

"Please, pray tell, High Septon. What is this prophecy you have seen?" Jon Arryn asked. Robert looked at him in annoyance, but Jon waved it off. He was quite possibly the only man alive who could do such a thing and keep his head.

The High Septon nodded, clearing his throat and licking his lips. And then, he began. "The Last Son has come to be. The last link in the everlasting chain is here. Born of Light and Dark, he will command all creation, and give upon men and women their salvation. For His sons have finally become one, mind and body has merged, and His is the Fury. The Last Son will have strength that will make the gods tremble, and the Heavens will be his, if he wishes it. A god among men, he will become. A man, he will choose to be. He will give his heart to the Breaker of Chains, and she him, and together, they will purify the world in Dragon's Fire and the Heavenly Flame. Nothing can stop them. The world is theirs, and we are but humble enough to live in it. The King of Kings, the Queen of Queens; these two will conquer the entire world, and not even The Seven will dare get in their way. He will unearth the nine beasts whose tails cause mass destruction. They will give him their strength, as they have done before. That is when destruction incarnate and fire made flesh will slay god, saving us all from eternal slumber. He has returned, the Child of Prophecy has come back to save us all. He is the savior of this world."

Robert just stared on at the man, his eyes narrowed the entire time.

"This is a prophecy you have seen? As the High Septon, I find it strange that you would say such things against The Seven." Jon explained.

"I was shocked myself, Lord Hand. I have served The Seven for many years, my whole life, actually. But this prophecy, this vision… it's real. It's going to happen. I know it just as sure as my heart beats."

"So you're saying…" Robert began, his voice low and his tone deep. "That a son of mine is going to conquer the world and spit on the gods as he's doing it?" He asked. The entire Thrown Room was silent, deathly silent.

The High Septon gulped, sweat falling down his forehead. But then, he straightened his shoulders, and held his head up high. "That is what we have seen, Your Grace." He spoke, not caring if they would be the last words he'd ever utter.

Again, the Throne Room was silent, and all those who were present the same. Ser Jaime Lannister, a member of the Kingsguard was silent as he watched his excited sister from the corner of his eye. Cersei Lannister was silent as she marveled at the prophecy of her soon to be born son. Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was silent as he tried to decipher the prophecy. Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King was silent as he also tried to decipher the hidden message behind the prophecy. Marcus Baratheon, the King's first son was silent as he stared at the High Septon with curious eyes. The nineteen men who followed the High Septon were silent as they watched their King. The High Septon himself was silent as he stared defiantly at his King. And then there was Robert Baratheon, the King of Westeros, who was silently watching the High Septon with serious eyes.

All was silent, not even the sound of breathing could be heard in the Throne Room.

And then, the King barked out in laughter.

"I couldn't ask for anything sweeter!" Robert laughed, standing. "Tell me, which son will it be? Who will be the King of Kings?" He asked.

"The future King, of course." Cersei spoke out, rubbing her belly. "Our son will be a god among men, just as the prophecy says." The look on her face said she was better than everyone else, and happy, so very happy.

The High Septon bowed his head to the Queen, a sorry look on his face. "I apologize, My Lady, but no… the child in your womb is not the Last Son…" That's when the aged man gazed upon Marcus, his weary eyes meeting lively onyx. "The Last Son is already born, and stands with us, in this very room." The High Septon, along with his nineteen followers, got on their knees, bowing their heads to the floor. "Marcus Baratheon, I, and all of the Great Sept of Baelor are at your service."

All eyes widened, seeking the youngest person in the room, who was standing next to his father with the same calm, curious look he had since the beginning. The High Septon was a powerful figure, and always has been since the founding of King's Landing. He was the mouthpiece of The Seven, and was expected to bow to no man, not even the King.

"You must be mistake, High Septon… Marcus is a _bastard_, and not the heir of my husband. The child in my womb will become King. It has already been decided." Cersei began in a strict tone, obviously being held back.

Robert was silent, still staring at his son who was just as calm as always.

"The Iron Throne rules all of Westeros. It means nothing to the Last Son." The High Septon began. "Your son may become King, but he will not be the King of Kings."

"What proof do you have supporting your claims?" Jon Arryn asked, efficiently interrupting Cersei's inevitable retort.

"The mark of Light and Dark, Lord Hand," the High Septon began. "It will be on the Last Son."

Robert and Jon both looked at the man with wide eyes, both men coming to the same conclusion

"What is the mark? Can you describe it?" Robert asked. Cersei looked at her husband, her eyes narrowed.

The High Septon nodded. "The mark will come in the form of the sun and a crescent moon, Your Grace."

Jon gulped, slowly turning to Marcus. "Your palms, boy, show them to us."

Marcus looked at his father with an asking expression, and the King nodded slowly. "Do what he asks, son." Robert ordered, his mouth suddenly dry.

Marcus turned to the High Septon, and slowly but surely, turned his palms to the crowd. And sure enough, the sun sat in his right hand, and the moon in his left.

The High Septon let a single tear fall from his eye, his arms stretched out as if to embrace the air. "Grace your eyes upon this boy, my followers, for he will one day save us all…"

If looks could kill, Marcus Baratheon would have been killed by Cersei Lannister. The woman hated the child before, but now… now she loathed his very existence.

After a moment of mindless staring, Jon finally snapped out of his stupor, managing to form thought. "Why was it you who saw this prophecy?" He asked. There was no way the man knew about the boy's birthmarks. Marcus hadn't even left the castle yet, and no one met him without the King present. For him to know about the markings, the prophecy had to be true, or there was a spy.

The High Septon shook his head, his face grim. "It wasn't just I, Lord Hand…" Jon narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Are you saying all twenty of you had the same prophetic vision?" Jon asked skeptically.

Yet again, the High Septon shook his head. "Please, follow me outside these walls, and I will show you." He stood, gesturing to the doors as he and his followers hurried out them.

Before Jon could speak, Robert was up, following the man with Marcus at his side. Sighing, the Hand of the King followed, with a reluctant Jaime and a furious Cersei behind him.

As they walked, Jaime glanced at Cersei, his twin glancing back with a worried expression. They held their gaze until they reached their destination, just outside the Throne Room. Jaime looked away, and his eyes widened, causing Cersei to follow his gaze. And when she did, her eyes mirrored his.

Robert and Jon looked on in awe, their minds still trying to comprehend what they were seeing.

There were thousands of them. Thousands of people were before them, all of them staring at one person. At Marcus.

That's when the High Septon spoke, his voice loud and his tone serious. "These are men and women from across the world, even from beyond the wall. We have congregated here because of what we've seen." He started. "We have all seen the prophecy… what your son becomes." His eyes met Marcus's. "You are going to be an extraordinary man when you grow up, little one."

Marcus suddenly took a couple of steps forward, looking on at the people. At his people.

And then he turned back to them, his eyes closed as he smiled at his father. Behind him, the thousands of people bowed to him, just as the High Septon had before. Only in his second year, and already had thousands bending their knee…

Extraordinary indeed.

* * *

**Author's Note's: **So, what did you think?

I was thinking about making Marcus the "trueborn son of Robert and Cersei" that died before Joffrey was born, but I really like the idea of Ned being Robert's son's uncle, and Ned's kids his cousins. It ties everyone together, and helps me give Marcus a reason to be upset when the Wolves and Lions are at each other's throats.

If it wasn't already obvious, this is a strictly Marcus x Daenerys pairing. Most of the Naruto x Game of Thrones crossovers are harems, and while harems aren't necessarily a bad thing, they get old. Fast. So, I'm writing a single pairing for this story. I hope you all approve.

Please let me know how I did, and review!

Question: Who's your favorite Game of Thrones character?

Fact: Naruto is my very first anime. I came across it on cartoon network one day after school in middle school. I think I was in the six, maybe seventh grade. I didn't start watching other anime until I was a sophomore in high school. I thought it was lame, until I found out that Naruto was in fact, an anime. Yeah… I felt really stupid.


	2. The First Lesson

**Author's Note's: HI VINCENT!**

Holy cow! This story has gained a lot of attention fast!

I was really shocked with how many reviews, favorites, and follows this story received. It's so awesome to know that my work is appreciated. Thank you, everyone, for such amazing feedback.

**Guest: Show me what this God can do** – you've unleashed the beast with that little sentence, my friend. It's on. I so hope you can keep up.

Now, there is a character, named Arya, in this chapter, who is Marcus's nanny. She is NOT Arya Stark, nor is she from the North. She's an OC, and her role is _extremely _important for this story, even if she isn't going to physically be in any future chapters…

I'd like to thank my beta, Dreaming of the Phoenix. Check out his work, you'll thank me later.

* * *

The Last Son

Chapter Two – The First Lesson

* * *

_He walked beside his people, the people he found on his own. The people he grew strong with. The people he loved. That's truly what strength was. Love. By forging bonds and cooperating, he was finally able to fight the one man he wished he'd never have to. All of his hard work, all of his strength, it all felt so shallow when he couldn't even save his own brother from himself. He loved all of his people, all of his friends, but he couldn't save the love between him and his own flesh and blood._

_He would fight his brother tomorrow. And they would both die tomorrow. Together._

* * *

_He was panting. His body ached and burned, like he was on fire. He looked behind him, and his people wept, cursing him for ordering them not to interfere. He looked forward, and his brother was in the same shape as he. Hidden away in the jewel of the giant blue, ethereal warrior, he could see him. He was breathing hard, his eyes narrowed in rage and disbelief._

_He looked at his hands, the hands of an adult, and he sighed. He was surrounded in golden flame, his mighty six arms poised and ready to strike or defend at his command. He wished they could just stop, but he knew that was impossible. His brother was bitter, enraged that father named him his successor. _

_He was his youngest son. _

_The sword of the titanic entity rose, and he knew his brother was ready. _

_His six arms came together, a giant sphere of black and gold energy coming into existence. The sphere grew and grew, until it was the size of a mountain. This was it. _

_Tears fell down his face. "We leave this world together, Aniki." He took a deep breath. "I'll see you in the next life."_

_He rushed forward, jumping into the air to drive his attack into the jewel of his big brother. It was time to die. _

_He was Asura._

* * *

Marcus Baratheon awoke in his bed, sweat pouring off his skin and tears running down his face.

He was silent for a moment, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. And then, he wept.

He screamed for his loss. He wept at the pain his heart felt for what he had to do. He cried loudly, and then he cried even louder. He killed him. He killed his brother, his family. Indra… Indra was gone…

A figure rushed into the room, her eyes wide in horror. He was screaming and crying uncontrollably. "What is wrong, my Prince?" She asked over his shouting. When she got no answer, she jumped into his bed, her arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace. "Marcus, what happened?" She asked in a shaky voice. Never before in her life as a maid had she ever seen a boy of only seven cry so hard. There was definitely something wrong.

Marcus's little body shook, his lungs screaming for air. He couldn't breathe. He… he... who was he?

"What in the name of the gods is going on in here, Arya?" Another maid who heard the screaming asked. She thought they were under siege for a moment there.

"Get the King! Now!" Arya shouted, her tone urgent. The younger maid nodded, running out of the doorway. "Shh, child, it is alright. Shh…" She tried to calm him with her voice. Her hand rubbed his back lightly and she rocked back and forth.

Suddenly, the boy stopped crying. Arya looked down at him, and was met by big, puffy eyes. And then, he asked her the question for the very first time.

"W-who am I…?"

It wouldn't be the last time he would ask that question.

* * *

He had changed. He knew it, and it was more than just physical. He thought differently, clearer. Everything was so much clearer. Colors were so wonderful now, so enhanced, so emphasized. Light was a different thing to him now. It no longer lit the darkness, but was actually visible to him, like he could reach out and hold it. The dark wasn't the same, either. No longer would he stumble in the darkness, for there wasn't a place where he couldn't see perfectly anymore. His perception changed, his eyes changed.

It had started with the burning. Oh, did they burn at first. It was the dreams, he knew it. He wasn't just making them up, how could he? And with them, the eyes that he watched them with changed. After the burning came the clarity. Clarity in both his surroundings and himself. He was weak, a meek child that couldn't defend himself against anything. These were the thoughts he had now, now that his eyes were different. They were such strange thoughts.

Why? Why did he have to get stronger?

He was only a child, but he knew that he was different, and he needed to do something about his weakness. He inhaled, feeling _it _inside him. He didn't know what it was, or why it was there, but he _knew _that it was there. Something stirred within him, humming, whispering to him to unleash it, to embrace it. And he could see it, but not just within him, but everyone… within everything. It… it was blue… blue and sometimes green. He wasn't sure why, but it was much larger within him than others, and even more so in the trees. He could spend hours just looking at a simple tree now, marveling at the blue-green colors that seemed to weep for him. It was a strange thought, but that's what he felt. The trees wanted him to command them, to speak to them.

He sighed… if anyone found out what he believed, they'd probably think him crazy, and lock him up in a dungeon somewhere. And then his father would have them all killed for touching him. He loved his father, very dearly, but he didn't like the way he did things. Life was such a precious thing, he knew that now. It was more valuable than gold and jewels, and more precious than anything. He hated death, despised it, even. He had killed so many times in his dreams; in his memories… it was too much. It was a vicious cycle, a cycle of hatred, pain and suffering. That cycle needed to be broken, and he, somehow, knew that he had to be the one to break it.

With every passing day, _it _grew, getting stronger and stronger. And with each passing day, it became clearer and clearer. He had to do something. That's why his eyes had changed. He was given the power to make a difference, to change it.

To change everything.

So here he was, in White Sword Tower, studying quite possibly the only two men who could help him with his goals. He wasn't an idiot – quite the contrary – he knew that the revealing of his eyes could be used against him, but it was worth the risk. He needed help; he wasn't going to deny it. He was a weak boy at the moment, a rather smart, incredibly perceptive boy, but a boy nonetheless. So he watched.

He watched them swing their mighty swords with great curiosity. His eyes followed the way they moved their feet, like dancers. He watched as they slashed their blades in beautiful arcs. He watched their every move, from their head to their feet, everything. He hadn't been so interested in anything so much in his entire life.

Considering that he was seven, that wasn't such a big surprise.

Jaime Lannister, the "Kingslayer", and Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the King's Kingsguard trained as Marcus Baratheon watched with great excitement. His eyes never left them, the two most skilled knights in all the realm. Jaime Lannister was a member of the Kingsguard when he was only a teenager, the youngest man to ever join the "honorable" group. The Kingsguard was comprised of the seven best knights in all seven kingdoms, supposedly, and they were tasked with defending the King at all times.

Barristan Selmy was an older man, but he was said to be the greatest knight to have been born since Aemon Targaryen. But whereas Aemon gained his fame through his sacrifice for the King, Barristan earned his fame through battle and blood. He had the loyalty of Aemon Targaryen, the skill of Jaime Lannister, and more experience than both of them combined. He was truly an amazing warrior, and that showed as he was watched by a certain raven-haired child.

Before he knew it, the Kingslayer's sword was on the ground, and his hands were held up, a sign of defeat.

Barristan smiled, chuckling. "That was a good spar, Jaime."

Jaime sighed, also smiling. "I'll get you next time, old man." Both men laughed, taking it all in good fun. Not many people knew it, but Jaime and Barristan got along quite well. There was a certain respect between the two of them, Marcus could see it.

"Ah, we seem to have a spectator." Barristan said, turning to Marcus. Jaime did the same, eyeing the boy. "Hello, my Price." The aged knight bowed.

"Hello, Ser Barristan. I apologize if I've bothered your duel…" Marcus replied. The boy was so mature and polite for his age, and his lessons with the Hand showed. He was well educated already; far above the level of the other children his age.

Jaime laughed. "I do hope you keep those manners when you're older." He would never say it out loud, but the way Prince Joffrey was already acting, he knew he'd be trouble. The blond-haired boy was only five years old, and he was already throwing temper tantrums as if he were already King. He did love the boy, though. After all, he was-

"I would like to train as well, Ser Barristan." Marcus interrupted Jaime's thoughts, stating a rather peculiar thing.

Jaime laughed, but Ser Barristan just gave the child a certain look. "You wish to train?" The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard asked. "Why?"

Jaime looked at the older knight, an incredulous expression on his handsome face. "You can't seriously be asking that question to a seven year old." He pointed to the young prince. "He's a little boy, Barristan; the King's favorite son, as well. He'll have both our heads if he's injured playing with swords. And that's only if he can hold one."

"I can hold one." Marcus said with confidence. "And I won't get hurt, either. I know how to use a sword." He stated.

Jaime just laughed at the child condescendingly. "Forgive me, young Prince, but that's impossible. You're only seven years old, and have no previous training." Jaime was no stranger to young prodigy, but even he was only still a child at seven – a rather brave, courageous child, but a child the same.

"I have dreams." Marcus stated, his gaze turning to the lonely sword that sat on the rack. "I'm swinging swords of all kinds in them, fighting hundreds of enemies all at once." Jaime sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Marcus ignored him, continuing. "I'm faster than the wind, and stronger than a hundred men." Ser Barristan looked at the boy with curiosity. "I've killed millions of people in my dreams, and with every new dream, it's another foe…"

"Dreams and reality are not the same, boy." Jaime began. He would not give the King anymore reason to hate Lannisters.

"Dreams, yes… but memories…" Marcus whispered. He was now at the sword rack, his still little fingers tracing the edges of the sword, his eyes falling down the blade as they went.

"You still haven't answered by question, my Prince. Why do you want to train?" Barristan asked again.

Jaime rolled his eyes and turned around, picking up his own sword and sheathing it. As he turned back, he saw Marcus Baratheon holding the sword he was previously touching. And unlike Jaime had thought, he could hold it like it was weightless.

He was wrong, then. He wasn't weak… _it _could be used to enhance his strength… but still, he needed to be taught. Having a book was fine and dandy, but if you couldn't read it, it was worthless.

Marcus swung the sword in the same fashion as Ser Barristan did when he disarmed Jaime in their spar, surprising both knights with the amount of detail that was in the swing. It was a perfect copy, in perfect form. It was another gift of his eyes; perfect memory. He could copy anything he saw with perfection, even if he only saw it once.

"It's what I'm meant to do…" the boy replied. "And you two were meant to help me." His eyes left the sword and met the eyes of the Kingslayer, and that's when the world first saw them.

It had been thousands upon thousands of years, but those eyes never die. Those eyes that are both a blessing and a curse upon the world, and they were now in the possession of quite possibly the most powerful person alive.

When Marcus's and Jaime's eyes met, Jaime was greeted by crimson orbs, with single commas in each.

The accursed eyes had returned.

Ser Barristan kneeled, his eyes falling to the floor. "My Prince…" he began, surprising Jaime with his show of obedience. "Ever since I saw the High Septon and all those people bow to you, I've known that you were different… special." He rose. "I would be honored to teach the King of King's the ways of the sword."

Not many people knew it – no one at all, actually – but Barristan was a firm believer in the prophecy. He wasn't sure why, but he knew it was his duty to show the Last Son the ways of the warrior. And now, after seeing eyes that no ordinary man could possibly possess… he was never surer of anything in his life.

Both Marcus and Barristan looked at Jaime, who looked as if he wasn't sure of something. He, too, was there when thousands of followers of the Faith of the Seven bent their knee to him. He was there when the High Septon himself touched the ground with his forehead in the presence of the "Last Son", the "King of Kings"… for Marcus Baratheon. He _had _felt it… that strange feeling the boy produced just by breathing. He was eerily perceptive, and oddly calm, even when being scolded, which wasn't often, the boy rarely did anything wrong. He was no angel, though. He was a child, and enjoyed playing childish games, but there was definitely something different about him.

Jaime Lannister just stared into those crimson eyes, his mind telling him one thing, and his heart another. He didn't know what those eyes were, or what made them so special, but he was a skilled warrior, a knight, and his instincts were telling him that those were the eyes of a predator, and not to be trifled with. It was a strange feeling, for sure. A child's eyes struck fear in him, and he didn't know why. It was like he was _made _to feel fear in their presence, like it was all around him, pushing down on his very being. "Why?" Jaime asked. "Why show me those eyes? Why ask me for help?" His sister hated Marcus, and the boy knew it, somehow. Why come to him with something like this, knowing that he could very well use it against him?

"Why not?" Marcus asked. "You are my uncle…" such an innocent, naïve answer…

"Why?" Jaime began. "I'm the Kingslayer, for one. A dishonorable, oath-breaker." The tone in his voice was low, ashamed. "And I'm not your uncle. Not really."

Marcus tightened his grip on the sword, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. When he exhaled, he opened his eyes and smiled at the blond Kingsguard. "I've heard what the High Septon says I am to do…" the boy looked scared. "I'm supposed to "slay god"…" in that moment, Jaime realized it. "I can't do any of that without help." Jaime realized that the boy _was _scared. "I need to learn; learn how to use a sword, a bow… I need to learn how to survive. If I'm to do what everyone think's I am, then I can't sit around doing nothing, and you two are the best warriors in all the realm. So please, I'm not asking you as your prince, or the King of King's… I'm asking you as Marcus Baratheon, to please help me." He had dreamt – or was it remembered? – a lot about both Asura and Indra, and he learned one important thing by doing so.

No one could accomplish their goals alone.

Jaime kept the boy's gaze for long minute, searching for anything else within those strange orbs.

And when he found nothing, Jaime Lannister did something his sister would kill him for if she ever found out.

He kneeled to his future King.

* * *

_He stood on the mighty beast with nine tails, his powerful eyes encasing the creature in majestic attire. His best friend and worst enemy stood on the giant wooden man, the wooden dragon wrapped around its body. He took in a deep breath. This had to happen._

_His power surged, the mighty beast stirring with it. And then he leapt, the demons jaws opening, producing a black sphere of energy. The sphere grew until it was bigger than the creature itself. _

"_We don't have to do this, Madara!" the man shouted at him. "We built the village together! It's our home, our dream!" His friends' words were true. It had been his dream. But it was never his home. His own people turned their backs on him. He was all alone, now. His family was gone, their blood soaking the earth. His brothers were laid in a grave now, and it was all the worlds fault. _

_The world was a cruel place. There could never be peace so long as they had their freedom. With that in mind, what he had to do was so clear now. _

_He needed to take their freedom from them. Only then could humanity live in peace, for it was humanity that caused chaos and suffering. _

"_No…" he started. "We _do _have to do this, Hashirama!" _

_With his goal in mind, he let the nine-tailed demon loose the sphere of pure destruction. _

* * *

His eyes shot open, and he sat up straight. His bed was once again soaked in sweat, and his breathing was labored. He took a moment to calm himself, taking in a deep breath. After letting go of that breath, he closed his eyes, thinking.

'_I am Marcus Baratheon. I am the son of the King. I am in King's Landing. I am Marcus Baratheon. I am the son of the King. I am in King's Landing.' _Over and over again, he repeated those words. His dreams felt so real that even when he woke, he still thought he was the person in the dream.

Right now, he knew he was Marcus Baratheon, but his mind kept telling him that he was also Madara. He shook his head. No! He was not Madara! He was Marcus Baratheon, and he was the son of the King, Robert Baratheon!

The door opened, and a familiar face greeted him. "Another nightmare, my Prince?" Arya asked. She had a cup filled with milk and honey with her, already used to this. He'd have nightmares every night, and every night, she would be there for him, comforting him. He didn't have a mother, Lyanna Stark was dead, and the Queen didn't care much for the poor child. Cersei would never comfort him. So it was up to the boy's nanny, Arya, who was given the position shortly after the child's first episode by the King himself.

"Yeah…" Marcus nodded. He took the glass of milk and drank it. The cold liquid felt heavenly on his dry tongue and sore throat. "They're still so vivid… Does everyone have dreams like this?" He asked. He was still panting, and his eyes burned. He knew no one had dreams like him, but it helped him calm down when he created conversation. Arya's voice helped him remember who he really was.

"I'm afraid not, my Prince." Arya replied honestly. "I've never seen anyone have such night terrors before." She never lied to him, that's why he respected her so much. Arya was his motherly-figure, and one of his favorite people. "What was it this time?" she asked curiously.

Marcus was silent for a moment, his eyes closing as he remembered the entire dream with great detail.

"I was a man named Madara this time." He began. Arya paid close attention, always fascinated by the boy's dreams. "I was… angry. I was betrayed by my people, and all of my family was dead…" He put his hand on his forehead, sighing. "I think I was a bad person, Arya…"

His nanny shook her head. "You could never be a bad person, child." She spoke softly, rubbing his back lightly with her hand.

Marcus shook his head, though, his face grim. "No… I was…" he whispered. "I was a bad person… I was feared by everyone, and I could kill hundreds with my eyes alone." It was then that he froze, his eyes widening, fear evident in them.

"What, child? What is it?" Arya asked. She could clearly see his fear, like it was palpable.

"The eyes in my dream…" he started, slowly turning to the woman, "They were these eyes…" he whispered.

That was the first time Arya saw the accursed eyes. The eyes that were crimson, and had two spinning commas each.

* * *

Flea Bottom, the largest slum district in King's Landing, was a sad, sad place in the eyes of Marcus Baratheon.

Women walked the streets with their flesh showing for everyone to see. Children lay in the street, their dirty, hungry bodies enough to bring tears to the young Prince's eyes. Men fought other men, and people stole from one another. Flea Bottom was almost a completely different country compared to the rest of King's Landing, especially the Red Keep.

"Why do these people have to live like this?" Marcus asked his two companions. To his left was his faithful nanny, Arya, who was more like a mother than a nanny. To his right was Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King.

"Poverty is present in every kingdom, child. The rich and powerful just choose to ignore it." Jon replied. The boy was only eight, but he understood more than most.

"Why doesn't my father help them? Isn't there something we can do?" Marcus asked. The smell alone was horrid, and the way the people hurt each other sickened him. "Can't we at least give these women clothes?"

Jon sighed, shaking his head. "Those women are called whores, Marcus. They make money by taking their clothes off…"

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "I don't like that word… they aren't whores, they're people." He crossed his arms over his chest. "There has to be something we can do for them…"

"That is why I brought you down here, Marcus. I have been teaching you since you were able to talk, and this is a lesson I wish I did not have to teach." Jon put his hand on the raven-haired boy's shoulder, a sorrowful look on his face. "I've brought you here so that you can learn that sometimes, there isn't anything you can do. Sometimes, injustices happen in this world, and we simply cannot fix them." The boy needed to learn this lesson soon. There were just some things you couldn't do.

"No…" Marcus whispered. "I don't accept that." His words were too low for anyone to here, but that didn't matter. Marcus Baratheon would never forget what he saw in Flea Bottom that day.

He'd never forget what he had to fix.

* * *

_His long, brown hair blew in the wind as he stood on top of his mountain. He and his best friend found this place, and their dream was finally about to come to._

_The sun was warm against his skin, and his power hummed within him. _

_Today was the day he created their home. _

_He closed his eyes and interlaced his fingers together. _

_Before his very eyes, life was created. Trees came forth, reaching to the clouds. There were at least ten thousand trees, and some of them even bore fruit. And then, wood began to take form, creating buildings, as sturdy as stone and much better looking. He was making his home, his kingdom, with his bare hands. He was creating his dream. He had a goal, and he was making it a reality. _

_He could feel his energy surging. Kami, he was powerful. _

_Within minutes, an entire village was created by a single man, by him. The Village Hidden in the Leaves, just as Madara had named it. It was their home. _

_His home. His precious jewel. _

_He'd protect this place with all the power he possessed. Nothing was going to destroy Konoha. Nothing. _

* * *

He awoke, but it wasn't with a start this time. His eyes slowly opened, and he hadn't been sweating, or crying.

He lay there, thinking about what he had just dreamt of. The pure power he just felt under his fingertips alone was so much more than any man in the real world could ever hope to attain. He had felt invincible, unafraid. He was always afraid when he dreamt, but he was oddly at peace with this dream… this memory…

He took in a deep breath and thought of Flea Bottom. If he could command that power again… he could save them. He could save them all.

He would not forsake Flea Bottom like everyone else had. And he would not stop there… he would be the voice for them all, for all of the voiceless.

* * *

It was a sunny day in King's Landing. Plump clouds lazed about in the sky, and the sun shone brightly on all of the people. The Red Keep was as beautiful as ever, the colorful flowers and the large stone walls were very pleasing to the eye, and trees swayed in the wind.

Cersei Lannister, the Queen, felt it was a perfect day for a walk, so that's exactly what she did. With her seven year old son holding her hand and nine year old step-son at her side – the latter was not there by her request – the beautiful lion walked the streets of her home. Sandor Clegane, more commonly known as the Hound, walked behind her, always ready to spill some blood. The bane of her existence's nanny, an older woman named Arya, walked with them as well. The woman was always by the bastard's side.

"One day, this will all be yours, Joffrey." The Queen said to her child. Her blonde hair matched his, and the two truly looked like mother and son.

Marcus, on the other hand, was out of place with his black hair and fair, pale skin. The boy definitely looked like his mother, or that's what Robert would go on and on about. Cersei looked at the boy with hateful eyes. The spectacle seven years ago with the High Septon and all the people who came to bend their knee to an infant – fools, in the Queen's opinion – had stroked the flames within the woman at first. She had never been so angry before in her life. Her son was the rightful heir, and would be their King, yet, they bowed to a bastard.

She wanted the boy dead, but knew it was a terrible idea. Robert loved Marcus more than he loved her, and definitely more than he loved Joffrey. If anything happened to him, there wasn't a place far enough from King's Landing for her or anyone to be safe from Robert's wrath. So she had to deal with it, and push it aside. After a few months, most of the fuss died down, the majority of the gathered people returning to their homes. Some stayed, though, and every time a man or woman bowed to the boy while in her presence, it only reminded her of how much she truly despised the pretender. Bastards were not meant to rule, it was common knowledge.

"No one can take this away from you, my precious son." Cersei continued. She never outright showed her hatred for the child, she was too smart to do such a foolish thing. She didn't beat him or have him terrorized, but he knew she didn't like him, she was sure of it.

They arrived at a beautiful garden that she herself had ordered to be made. The cacophony of colors that certain plants and flowers birthed were truly amazing, and Cersei couldn't help but be proud of her decision. As the queen walked about her garden, her true son at her side, Marcus and Arya made their way to the other side. The queen couldn't bar access to the prince for no reason, so he was still allowed into her sanctuary, but that didn't mean she had to walk by his side the entire time.

Marcus didn't mind it much. He quite enjoyed it, actually. Cersei was… a handful, to put it mildly. Marcus was already nine now, and his training in both his body and mind had exceled far beyond that of an average child of his age. He saw the world clearer than most adults now. His eyes had matured remarkably. Everything he could do before with his eyes was now enhanced, so much so that it was frightening, even for Marcus himself. His training with Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime had been coming along marvelously. It would have gone by much quicker if they had let him use his special eyes to copy their movement, but that was one of the rules. There was no "cheating", which meant he couldn't use those eyes to quicken the process.

To Barristan, form and finesse didn't matter. All that stuff came later, after one learned what was truly important.

Instincts.

The skilled knights wanted his _body _to learn the movements, and then his eyes. They wanted him to be able to work a sword like he had been using one for years, which was no small feat. The kind of skill he was forced to learn was by no means for children, or even teenagers, but Marcus had asked for it. He needed to get stronger, and with each passing day, he was. He could feel his strength increase with every lesson.

"What are you thinking about, my Prince?" Arya asked. Her voice was always so smooth, so loving.

Marcus's eyes roamed the multitude of flowers and plants that decorated the entire place, his face serene. "This really is a beautiful place, you know." He said with a mesmerized voice.

Arya chuckled softly; the wrinkles of old age just starting to show their unwanted heads. "Yes, it is quite beautiful." She looked at the black hair of her prince and future king. "It's not like you to state the obvious, my boy." Marcus loved it when she spoke so affectionately with him. He had always seen her as a mother-figure, and quite possibly the most important person in his entire life. She was there when he had no one since he could remember.

"No…" Marcus whispered, turning to the woman. He took a deep breath, exhaling as he opened his eyes. Arya was met with beautiful crimson orbs, three commas in each eye. The black commas spun in a circle, and Arya knew that happened when her son – no… he wasn't her son, no matter how much both of them wished it were so…

His eyes… yes, his eyes always spun when he was excited.

"Words can't describe what I am able to see..." Marcus continued. "The colors, the energy, the _life _that flows in this place… it's almost overwhelming." Arya smiled as Marcus reached out to a rather dead looking flower, its color now a dark brown.

"Where there is beauty, there is also the unbeautiful. Perfection does not exist, not truly." Arya said to the boy as he stared at the dead flower.

Marcus observed the flower, his eyes showing it in great detail. It was so sad. The dead, ugly flower sat amongst the living, beautiful flowers, almost like it was being mocked by the others. Marcus took in a deep breath, focusing the energy that ran like a rampant river within him. Still holding the flower, he managed – and this was after two whole years of practice – to direct the energy to the palm of his hand. Arya watched in awe and excitement as a blue flame enveloped both the boy's hand and the plant he was holding. The flame _pulsed _and _breathed _as if it were alive, flickering around Marcus' hand like it, too, was excited. It was a feeling Arya couldn't explain. Whenever she saw the blue flame, something deep within her felt _warm_, like it was calling out to her, reaching into her to caress… something.

Marcus's face showed just how much he had to focus to do what he was doing. It wasn't like his eyes. Once he activated his eyes, they would stay the way he wanted until he deactivated them. The energy within him obviously powered them, but he didn't have to consciously send the energy anywhere, his eyes did that for him. But what he was doing at the moment, he couldn't afford to lose focus, for one slip and he would fail.

His eyes closed, and his breathing became labored. It took so much out of him… Suddenly, the blue flame flickered, turning a deep purple, and much, much larger. After a few seconds, Marcus let go of the flower, almost falling to the ground in exhaustion. He caught himself, holding his hands on his knees, taking in deep breaths. Arya was immediately at his side, her hand rubbing his back gently.

"This takes too much out of you, Marcus…" his nanny whispered in worry.

After taking a few moments to catch his breath, Marcus smirked, pointing at the flower he had just held. And there, where a dead, ugly flower once sat, a beautiful, multicolored flower replaced it, its beauty unmatched by all the rest. Whereas the previously dead flower was mocked by its prettier counterparts, this flower stood tall, and all the other ordinary flowers seemed to weep at its beauty.

"Perfection." Marcus whispered, still catching his breath.

Arya narrowed her eyes at the young boy in faux-anger, shaking her head in exasperation. "You really are a stubborn child, you know that?" She chuckled softly, and helped the boy she thought as a son up, holding him by his arm. "It really is a beautiful flower, though." She added shortly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye with the smallest of smirks adorning her aging face.

Marcus nodded with a giant smile on his face, his childish side slipping through the cracks. After walking some more, Marcus sighed. "But it's not enough…" he said sadly. Arya looked away from him, already knowing his plight. The boy felt responsible for Flea Bottom, and the rest of the places in the entire world that was struck with poverty. He knew that money couldn't accomplish his goals, not entirely. Money couldn't build the much needed homes that the people of his father's kingdom needed. There were far too many homes that needed to be built, and far too little money. Money couldn't buy enough food to feed all of the poor. There were far too many people to feed, and far too little money. That left them with only one other option.

He had to do what _that man _did, what Hashirama did.

What he had done.

"You are only still a child, Marcus… to do even that is impossible for anyone but you." Arya tried to reason with the boy. But he was a Baratheon, and Baratheon's were all stubborn to the bone.

"The people can't wait for me to learn everything I need to learn to help them. They need help now." He sighed deeply again. "Making a single flower healthy again almost drains me… How can I save the people when I can barely save a single flower…"

Arya was silent for a moment, her mind trying to find the best way to say this. After realizing that there was no "best way" to say something harsh, she just blurted out what she hoped he needed to hear.

"Marcus Baratheon!" she began her rant. "You are just a child! The goals you set are too high, and you will never be able to achieve anything if you don't start somewhere that's closer to your level. You do not finish your dinner in one giant bite. You take your time and finish it bite by bite." She placed a firm hand on his shoulder, her eyes locking onto his crimson orbs, the eyes she always thought were so beautiful. "You can do things and see things that are so beyond everything and everyone else, it's amazing. Don't waste your time beating yourself up because you can't accomplish something right away. You have the strength to do whatever you want. Now stop moping and stand up straight! You're the King of Kings, not a beggar!"

Throughout Arya's scolding, Marcus just stayed silent, watching the woman yell at him for, well, being an idiot. Of course he couldn't produce entire villages and forests with nothing but his will. He was nine, and had no idea what he was doing in the first place…

Arya was right… he was being an idiot. She hadn't said that, but it was implied. He was only nine; he had plenty of time to work on his skills. He wouldn't be breaking his promises if he took his time and really tried to learn what exactly it was he was trying to do. And the fact that Arya was going to be there the entire time, helping him, guiding him through his own stupidity really reassured him. She really was just like a mother to him. Loving and gentle the majority of the time, and stern and strict when she needed to be.

"You're right…" Marcus nodded. "I can't rush this. I want to help these people, not cause them anymore chaos…" He smiled at the woman he yearned to call mother, his special eyes etching her face into his mind. He'd never forget what she looked like. Ever.

"Good." Arya proclaimed, rather happy that her speech got through to the stubborn boy. "Now, we should find the Queen. We wouldn't want her to start to worry about our safety." The deceiving smile on her face made Marcus laugh. This woman really was his best friend.

Together, Marcus and Arya walked side-by-side, gazing at the pretty garden as they tried to find Cersei. They didn't mind being left behind, they preferred it. It was easier to relax when you weren't constantly around someone who hates you.

As they walked, Marcus thought about his training with Barristan and Jaime. He was by no means a skilled warrior yet, but he was definitely getting the hang of wielding a sword. His strength was phenomenal, far greater than anyone his age. Jaime said that not even he had been at the level Marcus was when he was nine. It wouldn't be long. He would soon be the best sword in the world.

His thoughts were interrupted with the sound of Cersei's voice.

He didn't know it – no one could have possibly known – but this was the moment that would give the garden of the Red Keep its name.

For when Marcus and Arya turned around, it wasn't just Cersei who greeted them.

"Grab them!" a large man shouted. He was bald, and was as big as the mountain. He had Queen Cersei in his grasp, his face twisted into a mixture of malice and sick joy.

With his order given, two more large men flanked them, grabbing hold of both Marcus and Arya. Marcus saw the terrified looks of both Cersei and young Joffrey. Tears ran down the blond-haired boy's face, his mouth covered by a big hand. Cersei looked afraid, but not for herself. Cersei Lannister may be many things, many, many terrible things, but a bad mother she was not. The thought of her child being hurt terrified her, so much so that she trembled.

"This is him?" The big, bald man holding Cersei asked. He pointed a finger at Marcus, and Cersei looked at the child with uncertain eyes. Arya narrowed her eyes at the queen as the lioness looked into the pure black eyes of Marcus Baratheon. And in that moment, Cersei Lannister gave him a look he had never seen from her before. It was…

Affection?

"Is that Marcus Baratheon, son of the King!?" The bald man shouted again. This time, he shook the queen for good measure. He grabbed her by the cheeks with his hand, forcing her to look at the child she loathed for so long.

And after a moment of silence, Cersei Lannister did the strangest thing.

She shook her head in the negative. "No." Cersei started, tears falling down her beautiful face. "He's her son." She pointed to Arya. "She's just my daughter's new nanny. I was meeting them here to discuss a sleepover with-"

"Shut your mouth, bitch!" The man yelled, yanking her by the hair. "You better not be lying to me, whore, or I'll rape your daughter and make you watch before I kill her!" Cersei cried out, and her eyes once again met Marcus's.

"I'm telling you the truth… I," she looked away from him, her eyes closing, "I hate the King's bastard. Ask anyone…" As she spoke, Cersei herself didn't know why she was saying what she was saying, and she didn't have time to think about that. She was too busy wondering when the Hound would return with her brother, an order he was given not ten minutes ago, before any of this had happened. He would save them. Jaime would save her. He was always there for her. Always. "Since birth and after death" they would always say.

The man sighed. He shook his head in faux-empathy. "That's too bad, then." He said. "Cause we were told to get the prophesized one…" Arya looked at Marcus in terror. "First." The man finished, and Cersei's eyes widened.

First?

As in…

She looked to her son, and then at the man who was holding him, and saw his sword ready to strike down the boy.

"_King_ Balon Greyjoy sends his regards." The man holding Cersei said for everyone to hear, a sick smile on his face.

"NO!" Cersei screamed, trying to get out the man's arms.

The man's sword rose.

The man's sword fell.

But not on the prince.

Metal falling on stone rang out in the garden, the man's sword falling out of his hands as another was drove through his neck. Blood sprayed out, covering Joffrey, soaking his _golden crown _red.

"You would dare lay a hand on the King's family in King's Landing?" Jaime Lannister's voice was heard, and the queen's tears began to flow harder. He had come. He came to save his family.

The rest of the men – forty, at the very least – drew their swords, all poised at Jaime Lannister and Sandor Clegane. But neither man faltered. The Hound feared one thing and one thing only. He looked around. There was no fire here. Jaime just stared at them, his face a stoic façade. He was widely considered the greatest swordsmen in all of Westeros; he feared no man. He was a Kingsguard, and he would not let another man touch his sister.

"You'll die for that one, Kingslayer." The bald man spat as he threw the queen to the side, drawing his sword. He was ordered to kill the children, not the queen.

Blade piercing flesh was heard, and a strangled gasp shortly after. Marcus turned his head, very slowly, to his right. When he saw it, he just blinked. That's all.

He saw it, but he didn't register it. He could smell the blood, but that too was cast aside. His eyes bled red, and he could see the colors fading from her body, but he wouldn't accept it. So he just blinked, his mind blank, his eyes…

Was he crying?

Why was he crying?

Did something happen?

That's when he finally realized it. When he finally realized that it was real.

The man holding Arya ran his blade across her throat, taking away his nan-… his mother. Her body fell to the ground limp, landing in an unceremonious way. The man laughed.

Arya was dead.

They killed her.

She was gone. Forever.

They took her away from him.

People handle loss in many different ways. Some screamed to the heavens in agony. Some lost consciousness, their pain too much to handle. Some couldn't breathe, they were so shocked. Others cursed and blamed the gods, their hate for something when there was nothing so strong. For each person, the method changed.

For Marcus, it was the strangest feeling in the entire world. Never before had he ever felt something like this. His eyes… his eyes _burned_, and his brain felt like it was set aflame. It hurt, but even still, he didn't show any signs of even being aware of what was going on. He just stood there, his captor already letting him go as he went to slay the Kingslayer. He just stood there like stone. His heart… it felt cold… like it had frozen over. That alone was strange. His eyes and head felt as hot as the sun, but his heart… his heart was colder than winter. Everything just seemed to stop, to halt all motion. His eyes gazed upon what was Arya, her now dead corpse lying at his feet.

He suddenly looked away, gazing at the men who had done this, who had taken her away from him. He didn't even see people. He saw animals, or better yet, bugs. And they were all at his mercy. How, he did not know. He just… he could feel it.

It was his eyes.

'_Vengeance. Whisper his name, and it will be yours.' _These words were whispered into his ear, the voice unknown but so very familiar. He stared at the men who were trying to kill Jaime Lannister and Sandor Clegane, before he looked back at Arya.

"Who are you?" he asked the voice out loud. His voice was calm and collected, as if he hadn't lost the most important person in his life just then.

The voice laughed madly, somehow echoing in his head. _'Such a silly question.' _The voice replied.

Marcus decided that the voice didn't matter at the moment. He looked at Arya again. "I'm sorry…" he whispered. He knelt down, closing her eyes that somehow still stared at him. She didn't need to see what was going to happen. "Please," he began as he stood, turning away from her to face the men who killed his mother. "Forgive me for what I am about to do."

'_And for what I am about to become...' _

That's when it happened.

Marcus took in a deep breath, and then, he roared in agony. His voice was so loud, so very, very loud. Everyone in the garden turned to him, shocked. The wind became fiercer, so fierce that everyone had to shield their eyes from it with their arms. All the while, Marcus screamed, and all he knew was pain.

_Pain…_

Images of red clouds flooded his mind, but he ignored them.

Blue flame surrounded him, circling him in a vortex of energy. It was the first time they had seen the colors like he always had. He'd show them. He'd let them see it before he killed them.

He heard the voice again, but this time, it only spoke a single word. That single word was so familiar, like he had spoken it before, but he was sure he hadn't…

It didn't matter. He whispered it anyways. He brought it back into the world…

He brought _him _back.

He with the ability to help by all means.

"_Susanoo!_"

His eyes bled, he noticed. But that too didn't matter. All that mattered was what was his to claim.

Vengeance.

When he spoke that single word, that single name, it appeared. A dark purple, skeletal demon appeared – its form ethereal. It had large, glowing eyes, and a malevolent grin. Horns grew out of its head, and it hovered over Marcus ominously.

His eyes burned so bad now, he could barely contain it, but he pushed that away as well. Nothing but vengeance mattered. He would avenge Arya.

Jaime locked gazes with his student, and when he saw the boy's eyes, he knew that something was different. Where three commas used to spin in each eye, thin loops in a starburst pattern now sat, with blood falling from them.

The demonic entity that surrounded Marcus raised its hand, and a sword, made of the same dark purple energy as the being itself, came into existence. And then, Marcus began to stain the garden red.

A single swing of the demon's mighty sword and ten men were cut in half, dead before they even hit the ground.

Cersei Lannister stood frozen, her legs shaking, her heart racing. What was she witnessing?

Another three tried to run away.

All three were pierced by dark purple arrows, holes the size of giant boulders now through their hearts.

Sandor Clegane let his sword fall to the ground, his eyes not letting him turn away. What was he witnessing?

Seven fell to their knees, praying to be spared.

All seven were shown no mercy, and no longer possessed a head.

Prince Joffrey had already fainted before his Uncle and sworn shield even arrived.

Five held onto their swords, rushing at the demon and its master.

All five died before they even took their fourth step.

Arya's eyes were closed so she did not have to witness what her son was doing. It was better that way.

Fourteen more tried to attack, hoping their numbers would help them kill this _thing_.

All fourteen were slaughtered like cattle, their blood soaking the beautiful flowers the same color as his eyes.

Marcus turned his head to the last man alive, his eyes piercing through the man like a sharp blade. The man's knees shook, and the smell of urine was strong – and very, very recent – on him. He was covered in blood, the blood of his brothers.

"P-p-please… spare m-me…" he begged, stuttering out of fear.

Marcus began to walk, the giant skeletal demon following him, confirming that he was indeed the master. The eyes of the demon, the eyes that glowed yellow, watched him like a predator, and he was the prey.

"Oh gods… p-please, save m-me!" he shouted to the sky, falling to his knees.

"The Seven aren't with you today…" Marcus whispered, causing the man cower and cry. Susanoo – that's what the entity was called – grabbed the man, taking him into the air. His hands were large enough to encase the man's entire upper body. "What is your name?" he asked.

"D-Daniel, my Lord… o-of the Iron Islands…" the now named Daniel stuttered out.

Marcus stared at the man, his powerful eyes staring into the man's very soul. And then, he spoke. "You killed her…" he said. "You killed my friend." Indeed, this man, Daniel of the Iron Islands, was the one to slit Arya's throat.

Daniel's eyes widened, his heart freezing. "I-I… I'm sorry! I'm so s-sorry!"

A second word was whispered by the voice, and again, Marcus uttered it.

"Amaterasu…"

Sandor Clegane fell back, terrified. He scurried back, away from Marcus Baratheon, fear in his eyes as he watched the man in the demon's hands _burned by black flames_. The smell of burning flesh was dominant in the garden, and screams of pain and agony was the only thing that could be heard.

After the screams were no longer heard, Susanoo dropped the dead body, letting the flames from hell erase the man from existence.

Marcus watched the burning body for a moment, before he let go of Susanoo, the mighty entity fading from creation, retreating back into the accursed eyes, awaiting for the next time its master would call on it. He looked at those present, his starburst eyes observing Jaime, Cersei and Sandor. He then turned to Arya, and once again he cried, but this time it was not tears of blood, but regular, ordinary tears that mixed with the blood staining his cheeks.

'_The first lesson has been completed.' _The voice whispered. _'You have become a true avenger.'_

Marcus clenched his fists, his face twisting into rage. "Who are you!?" he shouted aloud, frightening Cersei and Sandor. Jaime was just numb, silently staring at the boy… _at his King_.

'_Isn't it obvious, stupid boy?' _the voice began.

"I'm you." Marcus spoke the voice's words.

And then, everything went black.

* * *

**Author's Note's: **Before any of you get all upset or pathological over both Susanoo and Amaterasu appearing in this chapter, just hear me out.

Even I know that giving Marcus these things so soon is not a good thing. That's why he won't be able to use them again for a long while. He just awakened the Mangekyo and its techniques due to the shock (like Sasuke with the Sharingan and Itachi massacring the Uchiha) of his mother-figure murdered before his very eyes. It takes up far too much chakra, and it's unhealthy on his body. He's going to be a lot more powerful now, but he won't be Sasuke-like during his final battle with Naruto. I like OP, not stupid.

And in case none of you figured it out, this is the start of the Greyjoy Rebellion. Yay! War! Fun!

Question: Who is your favorite Akatsuki character? (Mine's Pain/Nagato. Always has been.)

Fact: I have a son. His name is Vincent. He's 18. Honest! ^.^


	3. The Drums of War

**Author's Note's: **The amount of attention this story is getting is crazy! Keep it up!

I got another decent sized one for you all, again. Getting inspiration for this fic is so easy, and I absolutely love writing it. I can't wait for what comes next, and I wonder if any of you can figure out how I'm going to do it. If you can guess correctly where this story is going, I'll tell you if you are right or not.

This concept is actually stolen from another story I was going to write, which would have been a Naruto x Dragon Age (BioWare Video Game) crossover. In that story, the child of Andraste and the Maker, who was named Merlin, was given to humanity, and was born with the Rinnegan, which is the ultimate magic, so that he could save them. A somewhat different take, but the concept was similar, if a little more on the religious side, him being the literal son of God, and all. If any of you think that's a good story to go with, let me know, and I might keep writing it. I have like an entire chapter written for it already, and it's been sitting in my computer for months.

For those of you who don't know, me and a friend, Dreaming of the Phoenix, have created an author's team titled Dreamers. We have our community up on the site, called Dreamers Community, and we would appreciate it if you went and checked it out, maybe even follow? The roster for the team is on my profile, and I think most of you have heard of most of us. Please, check it out.

Thanks to my amazingly awesome beta, Dreaming of the Phoenix. Without this guy, I wouldn't look as good as I do. ;)

* * *

The Last Son

Chapter Three – The Drums of War

* * *

"Your Grace, please, calm down!" The Hand of the King, otherwise known as Jon Arryn, spoke, trying, and not succeeding, to calm the King of Westeros.

"Calm down!?" Robert suddenly shouted, his mighty, deep voice filling the halls of the Red Keep. "Calm down!?" He repeated again. "My wife and both my sons were almost assassinated by those bloody traitorous bastard shits!" Robert was furious ever since he heard the news. The damned Greyjoy? Really? What in the name of the gods was their reasoning for starting a rebellion? "You're lucky I don't march my entire army for the Iron Islands right now and kill every man, woman and child with my bare hands!"

"And what good would that do, Robert?" Jon asked. He was just as furious with what had transpired early that morning, but he was the Hand of the King. He had to be the King's reason, and think clearly when the King wasn't able to. This was one of those moments. "Something happened in that garden, Robert! Something… that we must discuss." As Jon spoke, he rubbed his hands, trying to understand what he was told.

"You mean with the rumors about Marcus?" Robert asked. Whenever Jon was nervous, Robert knew something was up. "Those are just rumors, Jon. My son's only nine years old. You really expect me to believe that he singlehandedly slaughtered forty trained men?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I think I would know if _my son _could do such a thing! He hasn't even been trained with a sword yet."

Jon sighed, shaking his head. "Yes he has, Robert." He began. The King stopped, turning to the man who raised him.

"What?" the King asked in a deathly silent voice, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I just learned it myself, Robert." Jon continued, placing a hand on Robert's shoulder. "Apparently, Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy have been training him for quite a while. They say he's skilled with the sword, a prodigy."

Robert was silent for a moment, the two men still standing in place. Jon was worried for a moment. Silence, with someone like Robert, was never a good thing. Quite terrifying, actually. It meant that he was thinking, and when Robert began to think… well, it tended to end with the genocide of an entire people. The Targaryens knew that first hand. Without preamble, the two began to walk again, still silent.

After a few minutes of awkward and uncomfortable silence, Robert started. "I need to see him." He turned to Jon, the two finally arriving at their destination. "I need to see my son." The boy was the only thing he had to remember Lyanna by. She was his world, and she was gone… but Marcus was there, and now his safety was threatened.

Jon nodded, gesturing to the door that both Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy were guarding, their hands on the hilts of their swords. Robert was not an uneducated person, Jon saw to that personally, so when he saw the eyes of the two most skilled Kingsguard, he knew, deep down, he was not the King they followed. The feeling was strange, because it didn't enrage him, or even slightly irk him. His son… he was a natural born leader…

Without even saying a word to the men, Robert passed, Jon actually surprised that he didn't give the two hell for putting a sword in his son's hand. Entering, Robert and Jon were met with a peculiar gathering. Cersei Lannister sat in a chair at the end of the bed, her hands crossed on her lap, an absolutely pale, almost sickly expression adorning her beautiful face. She looked like she had seen one of the Others. Directly to the side of the bed, the High Septon stood; his face grim. On the other side of the bed, Grand Maester Pycelle stood, his hands crossed behind his back. On the other side of the room, looking even sicklier than Cersei, the Hound sat in a chair, turned the other way, staring at a wall.

Robert passed them all, heading straight for the bed, the bed his firstborn son, Marcus, lay unconscious.

"Explain." Robert demanded to no one in particular.

"Marcus happened…" Cersei whispered, her voice shaky.

"What do you mean by that, woman?" Robert asked. "Tell me now! What happened to my son!?"

Pycelle cleared his throat, raising his hands. "If I may, Your Grace?" he asked. When Robert was silent, the older man began. "The young prince seems to be in a deep sleep brought on from extreme exhaustion. Whatever transpired in the gardens almost killed him." In truth, the Grand Maester hadn't a clue what happened to Marcus, only that he was in some kind of deep dream state. He wouldn't say that to the King, though.

"And what in the Seven Hell's happened in the garden?" Robert demanded.

"Marcus… he…" Cersei began. "He killed them all…" She whispered. Her voice was still shaky and her hands were visibly shaking.

"How?" Robert asked. "How does a child of nine years kill forty trained and armed men?"

"He… I don't…" the Queen shook her head, confused.

"If I may, Your Grace?" The High Septon inquired. Robert stared at the "Holy Man", before nodding to continue. "Your son seems to be tapping into the power he was prophesized to wield."

Robert sighed/growled, raising his hand to massage his temples. "You're still going on about that damn prophecy?" He asked in irritation.

"My apologies, Your Grace, but this incident has proven that we speak the truth. Young Marcus is maturing at a rate we did not think possible." Jon was silent as he went over everything Barristan had told him. "The accursed eyes… he has them, does he not?" When the High Septon spoke those words, Jon almost fainted.

"Say that again…" Jon whispered. Everyone, including the High Septon, turned to the aged man.

"I asked if he has awoken the accursed eyes." He repeated.

At this, Jon took a deep breath, finding the nearest chair. Sitting, he rubbed the back of his neck. "These… accursed eyes… what do you know about them?" Lord Arryn asked.

The High Septon raised an eyebrow, curious. "Ah…" he began. "So he has, hasn't he?"

"Just answer the question, damn it!" Jon shouted, surprising everyone. The man was always calm, always collected. To see him in such a nervous state… it was unnerving.

The High Septon just nodded, staying calm. "The accursed eyes, the eyes that bleed, the eyes that see all, the eyes that kill, the eyes that are cursed… these are the eyes the Last Son will see the world through. This was a piece of the prophecy that was left out when I first gave it to you…"

Robert snarled. "You would dare keep something from me? Your King?" He walked over to the man and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "I should chop that ugly head of yours off of your shoulders." He threatened.

"And these are the eyes that he will either save the world with, or destroy it…" the High Septon finished. "I kept that from you because I did not want to frighten you…" Robert let go of the holy man, a faraway look in his eyes. "Marcus will save us, I know it!"

"Then why did you feel the need to keep that from us!?" Cersei asked, incredulously.

"Because people fear what they can't understand. And I didn't want all of you to fear him… he's just a child."

"We should fear him…" everyone turned to the Hound, who had been silent until then.

"What was that, dog?" Robert spat.

"… I said, we should fear him…" Sandor repeated. "I… I saw that boy burn a man… with flames blacker than my armor… He conjured them from thin air… he's…" he turned to the people in the room, fear plaguing his eyes. "We should fear him…" he then turned back to stare at the wall, slightly unnerving them all. The Hound was a tough bastard, and the fact that he looked like he'd rather die than even glance at Marcus only emphasized just how strange the boy was.

"So he burned them, then?" Robert asked. "He set them all aflame?"

"I wish that's all he had done…" Cersei whispered. In truth, she wasn't sure why she lied for the boy, but when she thought about Marcus dying, she knew that Robert would have thought her guilty of something… anything. Her children were more important than her disdain for a single boy, so she lied… she saved him… but right now…

She wasn't sure if she did the right thing, because whatever was carried out of that garden, it wasn't Marcus… it wasn't human…

"Then what!?" Robert shouted, having enough of it all. "What did my son do? If someone doesn't tell me right now, I swear I will behead you all!"

It was at that time that the door opened, and everyone turned to see Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy enter through the door. The king could see two more white cloaks outside the door, obviously talking over for the two.

"He summoned a giant demon, Your Grace." Jaime said bluntly, in a stoic voice.

"What was that, Kingslayer?" Robert asked.

"I said," Jaime looked the king in the eyes, "Marcus summoned some kind of ethereal warrior to fight on his behalf." He turned to Barristan. "That's how you'd describe that thing, right, Lord Commander?"

Barristan sighed as all eyes went to him. "Your Grace…" the greatest swordsman to walk the earth began in a weary voice. "I know not what the creature was…" he then nodded at Jaime, "But your brother-in-law speaks the truth. Marcus… he brought something into that garden… and it wasn't human, that I am sure."

Robert may have fought against Ser Selmy during his rebellion, but there wasn't a man with greater honor – except for Eddard Stark – in all the realm. He knew that the man wouldn't lie, not when it concerned Marcus. So he was silent once more, his mind whirling about with what this meant. His son… he had slain forty men… and he summoned a demon to do it… He wasn't sure what was going on, or why, but what he did know was that his son was no longer an ordinary person. These mighty powers that people spoke of… they made him seem as if he were a god, or at the very least blessed by them…

"Your Grace…" Jon began, but Robert interrupted him.

"These accursed eyes… what exactly are they?" He asked the High Septon. The man looked with what seemed like pity at his King.

"They are a harsh burden that your son may not be able to overcome…" The aged man spoke with a conflicting voice. "Not even I know what they can do, but one thing is for sure…" he looked to the unconscious boy. "They can be truly devastating if he wishes them to be."

Again, Robert was silent, just staring at his son for a moment, before he snarled. "Jon…" he clenched his hands into fists. "Let it be known... I've officially declared war on Balon Greyjoy and all of the Iron Islands." Jon sighed, closing his eyes. It was never a happy thing to ever assemble the armies and prepare for war. Ever. "Those bastards want a rebellion? I'll give them their bloody rebellion." He turned, heading for the door. "And I'll crush them just as I crushed the Targaryens." With that, he left the room, Jon right behind him.

As they left, Jaime and Barristan shared a look between them. They both knew what lay on the horizon. It was soon going to be all out war, and as the greatest knights in Westeros, Jaime and Barristan would most definitely have major roles in the battles to come. They both then turned to Marcus, to their King, and both gave a small, unseen bow of their heads.

Neither of them noticed it, but Cersei saw them, her sickly face becoming even more so when her eyes narrowed.

Things were only going to get worse before they got better.

Marcus groaned as Jaime and Barristan left the room, Cersei, the High Septon, and the Hound staying, unsure of what to do, or where to go. Even unconscious, being near Marcus felt the safest place in the Seven Kingdoms.

* * *

"_It's getting late…" he said to himself as he ran down the dark, desolate street. The moon was full, and lit his way, the stars sitting lazily in the dark sky. He was late, and he hoped his parents wouldn't be too upset._

_Suddenly, he felt… scared, like someone was watching him. He froze, looking up to a nearby street post. Standing there, he looked confused. 'What was that?' he thought. 'I thought I sensed someone there just now…' He looked wary, but then his expression turned frightened. He noticed it…_

'_The lights…' he thought to himself. 'It isn't even close to bedtime yet…' It was much too dark for the hour it was, and he knew… there was something off. _

_He began to run again, turning a corner, only to be met with what looked like a battlefield. _

_Kunai were everywhere, on the ground, in the walls… and blood… there was blood staining the ground…_

"_W-what is this?" he asked out loud, his heart pounding, his eyes widened. He began to run some more, dashing through the kunai littered street. 'What the hell is this!?' After running some more, he turned another corner, and when he stopped, he froze once again. "Uncle… Auntie…" sure enough, the cold, unmoving bodies of the older man and woman of is clan that he had spoken to just that morning were there, so very still… _

_His eyes were wide, unable to fully process what was happening… He then inhaled deeply._

"_Father… Mother…" His little feet began to run. He ran and ran, not stopping until he arrived at the house he was raised in. He hurriedly slid the door open, shocked to see just how dark and quiet it was. There were no shoes sitting where there should have been… _

_He took a single step into the house. "Father? Mother?" he asked before taking another single step into the house. He slid his shoes off out of habit, placing his yellow over the shoulder school bag down as well. He gulped, and began to silently search the house for his parents. Room by room, he peaked his head in, hoping against hope that they'd be sitting there, waiting for him like always. With each empty room, he grew more and more nervous; his heart pounding so hard that he could practically hear it outside. _

_A small thump caught his attention, and he gasped. Running through his home, he made it to the outside walkway that led to his parents' room. He ran as fast as his little legs could take him, almost tripping over his own feet. _

_The moment he made it to the door, he slowly put his hand to the door, but froze before he could even touch it, fear and anxiety rushing through him. Sweat ran down his face as he began to think. 'There's someone in there…' His legs shook and he couldn't breathe. _

'_Move!' he shouted at himself within his mind. His body still shook with fear and he had to close his eyes, for what reason he had no idea. _

'_Move!' he stated again, his teeth firmly clenched together. _

'_Move!' he took a single, shaky step forward, placing a shaky hand on the door. Another shaky hand rose, and he managed to finally open the door that he knew he shouldn't have. _

_He rushed through with reckless abandon, eyes wide and heart pounding. "Father! Mother!" he shouted. _

_And then he froze, not even five steps into the room, shock marring his face. There, washed over by moonlight, his parents laid, unmoving, and blood… everywhere… _

_He could see legs beginning to walk out of the shadows, scaring him. He began to take steps backwards, until his back was pressed against a wall. The figure was now out of the shadows enough that he could see who it was. _

_The crimson eyes that caught his were colder than he was used to. _

"_Big Brother!" he shouted. "Father and Mother are…!" He shook his head, his eyes closed again. "Why? For what reason!?" His hands were still shaking, this time equal amounts of rage, fear, and sorrow the reason. "Who the hell would do something like this!?" _

_Suddenly, something sharp and cold flew past him, digging into the wall to his side. For a second, he was confused, not knowing what happened, until he felt the flesh of his shoulder slash open, his shirt tearing. It was a shuriken… thrown at him…_

_He grabbed his shoulder, still confused. "Big Brother… what are…?" He didn't know what was happening, or why. _

_Those crimson eyes just stared at him with a blank, stoic expression, watching him._

"_What are you doing, nii-san!?" he asked, still holding his shoulder. _

_Silence…_

_And then…_

"_You pathetic younger brother…" _

_He felt struck by the words his brother said, unsure why he was being so cruel. This wasn't his aniki! His nii-san was always nice and gentle with him…_

_His brother closed his eyes, and when they opened, he felt terror the likes of which he didn't know existed. For when those crimson eyes opened, they were not the normal, three commas in each eye like usual, but three black spiraling curves around a pupil._

_And that's when everything turned red. _

_He saw it all, in terrible detail… Everyone was dying, being slaughtered, cut down in the streets like they were animals, less than human. Shuriken flew, stabbing into flesh alongside kunai that sliced through tender skin. Blood splashed, covering everything in crimson. He was showing him… his precious big brother was showing him how he slaughtered their people… _

_He grabbed his head in pain, begging for it to stop. "Stop! Nii-san!" It was so painful to watch. "Don't make me see this kind of thing!" He wept. He wept for the people who died like animals, and for the person who was doing it. "Why?" he asked in a shaky voice. "Nii-san… why did you…" And then he was shown his own death, and then he screamed, clenching his head in horrible pain. _

_Then, he was once again in the room, falling down to his knees in defeat and agony. His head burned and his legs were numb. He then fell fully to the ground, panting, with drool leaking out of his mouth. _

"_Why… nii-san… why did you…" his voice was soft and devoid of emotion, still out of breath. _

"_In order to measure my vessel..." His brother replied in a cold, sharp tone. _

"_To measure your vessel?" he asked, feeling anger well up in his stomach. "Is that all?" He clenched his hands into fists. "Only for that reason… you killed everybody…?" His voice sounded so defeated. _

"_That is what is important." His brother replied. _

_He slowly rose to his feet, shaking. "What the hell is that?" His anger suddenly exploded, and he rushed his brother, a snarl on his face. "You gotta be kidding!" he screamed. _

_His charge was met with a fist to the gut, and he felt all of his breath leaving his lungs, spit falling out of his mouth. He fell to the ground, clenching his stomach._

_He slowly raised his head to look at his brother, and the tears began to fall from his eyes. Then, his brother took a step forward, and he froze. _

'_I'm scared…' he thought to himself. He got to his feet, positioned to run out of the door behind him. 'I'm scared!' He took off towards the door, screaming, running out of the room, away from his beloved brother. _

_His shoes were on once again, and he was running down the abandoned streets once more, as fast as he could, crying the whole time. He was so scared, so terrified. His eyes were wide and his heart beat so fast. _

"_Don't kill me…!" he screamed as the tears flowed down his cheeks. He stopped, his heart feeling like it did the same, when his brother suddenly walked out in front of him. The grey armor and black clothing looked so ominous in the moonlight. _

_He stared at the person he looked up to so much, trying to breathe. "I don't believe it! This is too unlike you, nii-san! I mean…" _

"_The reason I acted the big brother you desired was," the older of the brothers began, "I wanted to measure your vessel. You have the potential to become my opponent in order for me to measure my vessel." He made no sense… "You hated me… and you continued to have the desire to surpass me. That's exactly why I will allow you to live… for my own benefit." His voice was so cool, so calm that it scared him even more. "You are someone who could be able to use the Mangekyo Sharingan, just like me." The wind seemed to pick up, taking the leaves with it to ride on its currents. "However, on one condition…"_

_He stared at his big brother, not sure who the man was anymore…_

"_You have to kill your closest friend."_

"_Y-you've got to be kidding me…" he stuttered, shocked. How could this person think he would or could do such a terrible thing?_

_That's when he said it…_

"_Just like I did…"_

_Memories of when the others came to ask questions about their cousin flashed through his mind…_

"_That was… your doing?" He asked. "Nii-san… you killed Shisui?"_

"_That's right… and because of that, I obtained these eyes." His brother began to speak about something, but that wasn't important to him at the moment. "If you attain these eyes…" he started to pay more attention. "You will be the third person, including myself to have attained the Mangekyo Sharingan." He smiled. "If that happens…" he began to chuckle. "Then there will have been meaning in my allowing you to live." He gulped. "However… at present…" he turned, frightening him. "You are not worth killing, my pathetic, younger brother." He closed his eyes. "If you want to kill me, then begrudge me. Hate me. And live in an ugly manner. Run away… run away… and cling to life… And one day, when you have the same eyes as I do…" His eyes opened, revealing those different eyes… the Mangekyo Sharingan. _

"_Come and stand before me!" Uchiha Itachi spoke… his brother. _

_For him… for Uchiha Sasuke… everything went black._

* * *

His eyes opened, slowly blinking. He was… standing… in a field. His eyes gazed up, and immediately widened.

The moon.

He noticed just how big the moon was, almost filling the entire sky. And the color of the moon… it was red, the color of his eyes…

"You're a bit early, aren't you?" A voice spoke out to him from behind. It was such a familiar voice… He turned, and was met with an incredibly familiar yet foreign face. "Hmm… still just a child…" he narrowed his eyes. That voice… it was…

Marcus Baratheon pointed an accusing finger at the black-haired man before him, snarling. "You!" he shouted. "You were the one whispering to me, in the garden!"

The man just smirked, nodding. "You have a talent to state the obvious, do you?"

Marcus glared at him for a moment, taking in his appearance. The man wore a black cloak, the same color as his eyes, and black pants underneath. Black sandals adorned his feet, and Marcus could make out a thin sword sheathed on his hip. His black hair fell over his left eye, and he had an aloof, cool aura about him.

After just staring, Marcus's eyes widened. "You… you were me… or him…" he shook his head, slightly confused. "You're Sasuke Uchiha…" he whispered, shocked.

Sasuke smirked. "So you noticed." He replied.

"But… how?" Marcus asked. "Why am I dreaming about you, as if I am you?" It was the strangest feeling. Marcus looked at Sasuke, who looked nothing like him – except for the dark hair and pale skin. Yet… he felt as if he was looking into a mirror, as if the man before him… as if Sasuke Uchiha was Marcus Baratheon, and Marcus Baratheon was Sasuke Uchiha…

Sasuke just raised his left hand, his palm raised to the younger boy. When Marcus saw what was on the palm of the raven-haired man, he froze. "You and I share more than memories, Marcus." Marcus looked at his own left palm nervously. "And we have much to talk about before you leave this place."

Marcus narrowed his eyes, confused. "W-what do you mean?" He gestured all around him. "Where are we?"

Sasuke sighed. "So you haven't seen it yet, then?" Marcus had never seen this place before. Ever.

Right…?

"We can get to that later." Sasuke began. "But right now, you need to understand what you are, and what's happening to you. I would have preferred you to be older, but things never seem to go according to plan…"

Marcus just looked at the man with confused eyes, not understanding what he was saying at all.

Sasuke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay… let's start at the beginning."

And so the Uchiha began his impromptu history lesson, literally starting at the beginning, with the Sage of the Six Paths himself.

It was going to be a long conversation. But here, in this world, time wasn't an issue. They had all the time they needed, and the boy would know this place before he left.

* * *

It had been two days since Marcus had slaughtered the Greyjoy men in the garden, and he still hadn't awoken from his deep slumber. The King had allowed the Silent Sisters to attend to Marcus. The order had become faithful followers of Marcus, their prophesized one. The prophecy had said that the King of Kings would defy the laws of The Seven, but somehow, the Faith began to whisper tales that the Child of Prophecy was the chosen one, sent from The Seven. How that worked out to be, no one knew. It seemed religion had a way of either totally synchronizing with something, or completely ostracizing it, and in the case of Marcus Baratheon, it was the former. The boy had the High Septon at his feet, the Most Devout kissing the ground he walked on, and the Silent Sisters attending to him like he was their god. If Marcus was anyone but the son of the King, he would be the most dangerous man – or child, in this case – in Westeros. Sure, the Faith Militant had been disbanded, and no holy man was to ever bear arms again, but even then, Marcus could possibly sway them into recreating it. If whispers of the Warrior's Sons and the Poor Fellows were back, no one would be surprised. And the fact that the Faith of the Seven was dominant throughout Westeros, if the Faith Militant were to return, he'd have an army larger than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms. It was truly a frightening thought.

Jaime Lannister sighed as he entered the room his King was sleeping in, Cersei Lannister, the Queen, still at the foot of the bed, her arms still folded over her lap, her elegant poise never slipping, even when there was none to see it. Her eyes showed her weariness, and the untouched food at her side spoke of her stress level. The Queen could never eat when she was stressed, or scared. Jaime reckoned it was a mixture of both.

Ever since that day in the gardens, Cersei hadn't left the boy's side and Jaime didn't know why. She hated Marcus, despised his very existence, so why she suddenly took an interest in his health confused not only Jaime, but mostly everyone who knew of her dislike for the King's first son, which, frankly, was everyone. She only left the room when she absolutely needed to. Otherwise, she was always there, next to him, watching him, observing him and those who were around him. It started to worry her twin brother.

"Why don't you go and get some sleep in your bed, Cersei. You've been here too long." Jaime started gently, placing his hand on her shoulder.

The Queen shook her head, but otherwise didn't take her eyes off of Marcus. "No, I'm fine." She said bluntly. He could hear it in her voice, though. She certainly was not fine.

Jaime looked to Marcus for a moment, before dragging his gaze back to his sister. "Cersei… what's going on with you?" He asked. It was time to be straightforward. "You've hated the boy since you've known him, and now you sit here like a terrified mother watching her child, worried for his safety." He just didn't understand. Cersei wasn't one to change her opinion of someone so quickly, not even after what they had seen in those gardens. The only children Cersei loved were her own. Joffrey and Myrcella were the only ones she'd ever be so vigilant about, so the fact that she was doing so with Marcus was as unexpected as it was strange. His sister was stubborn, annoyingly so, and she was not one to shed tears or worry about anyone but her own blood.

"I protected him, you know…" she finally whispered. Her voice was soft, but Jaime could hear it nonetheless. "They had him… those men in the garden… they would have killed him if I told them the truth… it would have been so easy, too. But I didn't… I lied to protect him… I risked the life of my own son for that _bastard_…" she said the last word with anger and disgust, all but spitting it out of her mouth like sour milk. "And then he…" Jaime could see his sister shiver, and he already knew what she was thinking about. "He did those things…" she finally looked at her twin… at her lover… "How did he do those things, Jaime?" Her hands were shaking and her eyes held fear within them. She had seen magic before, or at least claims of magic. Never before had she ever seen _anything_ like what Marcus showed them. That evil smile the demon wore still haunted her dreams… she couldn't sleep without being terrified.

Jaime couldn't blame her, though. He had been in such shock and awe at the time that the fear was gone, vanished. But it came back whenever he remembered it… those blood red eyes that he'd never seen before, with loops in a starburst pattern… or the haunting eyes of the warrior he summoned… as yellow as the sun, the demon's smile so malevolent that it could strike fear into any mere man…

Yes… Jaime Lannister knew full well just how terrifying Marcus Baratheon was… but… there was more than just that side to the child.

"I don't know, Cersei…" he started. "He's never talked about anything like that before." He had only seen eyes with three commas spinning in each before, and even those were amazing. To be able to mimic any man's movement at will, and to enhance ones reflexes and response time was truly an amazing gift, one that could change the world if more than just one child possessed it. The things his King could do were otherworldly, and they interested him as much as they frightened him.

The Queen turned back to Marcus, her eyes now narrowed. "It's true… what they say about him… isn't it?" She asked. She didn't need an answer. "We seem to follow him without even knowing it…" She chose to defend the King of Kings over her firstborn, over the "rightful" heir to the throne. She didn't want to, but something… made her do the right thing… "What is he?" she asked in a scared, breathless voice.

Jaime was silent, he himself having asked that same question a few times.

The door opened and a Silent Sister walked in, a wet rag in her hands and a bucket of water. She had come to wash the prince off. As the faithful servant of the Faith did her duty to their chosen messiah, Jaime turned around, ready to leave. Before he left, though, he gave his sister the answer he had told himself.

"He's our future King, sister. And no one can stop it." With those words said, Jaime Lannister left the room.

As the Silent Sister worked, Marcus's eyes moved back and forth under his eyelids.

He was still dreaming.

* * *

Marcus listened to every word that Sasuke Uchiha told him with great interest. He listened to the story of Otsutsuki Kaguya-hime, and how she ate the forbidden fruit of the God Tree to end the war and strife of the world. He listened to how the woman ended those things, ushering in a world of peace, until she went mad with power, enslaving humanity with her incredible power. He listened to how the goddess gave birth to twins, and that the oldest, the Sage of Six Paths, would go on to end her cruel hold on the world by defeating his mother, who had joined with the God Tree to create a great beast with ten tails and unimaginable power. He listened to how the Holy Sage and his brother defeated the god of destruction, and sealed it within himself, becoming something called a Jinchuuriki, or Human Sacrifice.

He listened to how the Holy Sage went on to create ninshu, the harmony the world needed for so long, and how he had two sons… two sons named Asura and Indra. He listened to how the Sage passed his teachings on to his children and followers, and how Indra took to them like second nature, and how Asura struggled with everything. He listened to Indra's beliefs of personal power to be true strength and the only way for peace. He listened to how Asura felt that love and cooperation was the only way to attain peace, and how he, the youngest son of the great Sage, was appointed the successor of ninshu. That, by gathering around people who shared his same beliefs, Asura was able to truly become powerful, enough so that he could face his brother in combat on equal footing. He listened to the great Battle of First Sons, the epic conclusion of the Sage's children… or, what should have been the conclusion.

The battle had ended with the death of both brothers, but the war was far from over. Asura's descendants, the Senju, and Indra's descendants, the Uchiha, would wage war on each other like the world had never seen before when men would fight other men. And within the never ending conflict, the sons of the Sage would continue to be reborn, constantly seeking each other out, even if unaware, and once again continue their eternal conflict. Centuries of this would transpire, shaping the world into something far more corrupt than before. He listened to how the Sage's gift had been tainted by men, and used to kill and wage war.

He listened to the tale of Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama. He listened to how the two met and became friends as close as brothers in a world that had killed most of their blood. He listened to how these two trained together, how these two "transmigrants" bonded, how Asura and Indra – for the first time in hundreds of years – walked side by side instead of fighting each other. He listened to their dream of a united people, where little brothers, big brothers, sons, fathers and uncles didn't have to die for a reason everyone knew, but no one could understand. He listened to how Madara and Hashirama eventually had to sever their friendship, and forsake their dream, for their family. The two would meet each other on the battlefield many a time before the conflict would finally fix itself. With the death of his last brother, Madara faced Hashirama for one last time, the awe-shocking battle finally ending with the defeat of Madara. But instead of killing his once rival and greatest friend like everyone else wished him to do, Hashirama spared him, wanting nothing but to unite their clans under a single banner, their dream. He even offered to sacrifice himself for this chance at peace, and it ended with the birth of Konohagakure no Sato, the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

He listened to how Hashirama was chosen to be their first leader, and how Madara felt great resentment for most of the Senju for not truly accepting the Uchiha. He listened to how Madara lost the support of the Uchiha, the rest of the clan turning their backs on the man who had singlehandedly protected them his entire life. That kind of betrayal, the kind of hatred that Madara felt made him seek the one thing he believed would let him "fix the world". He listened to how Madara left the village, and later faced Hashirama at a place called the Valley of End. He listened how… Madara… summoned a mighty beast with nine tails and a roar that shook the earth, and encased it in the ethereal warrior known as Susanoo. He listened to how Senju Hashirama took both the power of the Uchiha and the nine-tailed demon called a Bijuu by himself, and even overwhelmed them both. He listened to how the man known as the First Hokage had to kill his best friend, for his best friend had lost himself in the darkness that the world was so good at producing.

He listened and listened, and with every second that passed, he grew more and more frightened. Was he going to become like them? Was he going to wield the power to decimate continents? Was he going to go mad with the power he would attain? He needed to know more… he needed to know everything.

So he listened.

* * *

"Do you understand, now? Do you understand what you are? Who you are?" Sasuke asked.

Marcus was silent. His hands trembled and his eyes were downcast. "Yes." He answered breathlessly.

Sasuke's cold, onyx eyes gazed upon the next link in the chain… the last link. "This is just the beginning, child." He continued. "The first lesson was vengeance, and it was the hardest of them all. Now, you must take the second test." He shook his head, and when he spoke, it was from personal experience. "They don't get any easier, Marcus. Each time you pass one, and think it could not get any harder; another will pop up, this one more difficult than the last. It's ironic really… to end a cycle of hatred, you must endure a cycle of pain."

_Pain…_

Again, red clouds and endless rain flashed through Marcus's head, this time more vivid. "Pain… he was from your time… wasn't he?" Memories of blood red hair and purple, ringed eyes as cold as steel flooded his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. "Who was he…?" he asked.

Sasuke shook his head, his eyes closed. "Pain was a piece of the puzzle." Sasuke replied.

"What puzzle? Please… just tell me." He wasn't exactly sure why, but he felt as if he absolutely _needed _to know pain… The very name caused so much emotion, so much feeling within him, that he needed to know… he needed to hear it.

"Peace." Sasuke began. "Pain was a crucial piece of the puzzle that is peace." He smirked. "Don't take my word for it, though. I never met the man… but you have. You fought Pain, you conquered Pain… you saved Pain. Those memories are there; within your mind… all you have to do is look… and remember…"

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. He tried to concentrate on the feelings, on what he saw when he thought of Pain. Before long, though, red clouds raced through his mind again, and endless rains washed over everything. His vision became foggy as the world around him bled crimson. The last thing he saw was the eyes of Sasuke Uchiha.

The eyes that were three crimson ellipses atop obsidian.

The eyes that mirrored his own.

* * *

_He clenched his hand into a fist, smiling. He was so strong now, he could _feel _it. Every time he inhaled, more power flooded his body, and every time he exhaled, the world embraced him. He was one with nature now… he understood it, finally._

_He held his hand out, towards the others, and began to spin the energy within him in his palm. Faster and faster, the energy span, grinding, screeching, growing. Blue light screamed in the heavy forested area, so loud, so large, so powerful. This was it… he did it… absolute perfection. The others vanished, smoke rising in the cool air of night, floating to the stars that littered the sky, the moon ever-present. This was it._

_His target was an innocent tree ten or fifteen feet in front of him. He smirked, the power inside him mixing, feeding off the energy of nature, humming in absolute harmony. This was for the man who taught him when no one else could. This was for the man who believed in him no matter what kind of obstacle stood in his way. This was for the man who loved him like a son. This was for the man he looked up to like a father… This was for the man who died trying to end his suffering. _

_This was for Jiraiya, the man who named him._

_He _threw _the spiraling ball of energy, the Rasenshuriken, and it hit the tree, and the boulders on each side, and the trees surrounding it, and everything else within the immediate vicinity. Everything. _

_It was all gone. When the dust settled, and the night was silent once more, everything that had been around the tree… it was gone. He had done it. _

_He had perfected perfection. He perfected the Rasenshuriken. _

_He was ready to face Pain._

_And then the rest of the Akatsuki would be next._

* * *

_He felt pain._

_The village was destroyed, and Kakashi-sensei was gone… People were dying because of the man who stood over him, his purple, ringed eyes staring at him like cold steel. There was a black rod through his hands, pinning him to the decimated earth he had just fought on. _

_It was Pain. The man standing over him… he was Pain._

"_You asked me why I am doing all of this. Even if I told you, I doubt that would change anything." The man who called himself Pain spoke, crouching so that they could speak better. "But what if we tried to have a discussion once more?" He asked in his cold, stoic voice. _

_He narrowed his eyes at Pain. "I have nothing to discuss with you."_

"_My goal is something even Jiraiya-sensei was unable to achieve. As I mentioned earlier… Creating peace, and bringing about justice." Pain spoke regardless. _

"_Peace? Justice?" he asked. The rods that pierced his hands hurt, but the anger began to overwhelm even that. "Yeah right… don't give me that crap!" His voice was trembling, in both fatigue and rage. "My master! My Sensei! My friends! My village!" he clenched his hands through the pain. "After everything you've done, don't you dare talk about peace and justice!" he panted. _

_All the while, Pain just stared at him with uncaring eyes. "Then tell me what your goal is?" _

"_I'm gonna kill you! And bring peace back to the shinobi world!" He shouted without a second's hesitation. _

_After a slight pause, Pain began. "I see… that is noble of you. That is justice indeed. However…" he began to walk to the side. When he stopped, he was right next to the newest sage. "My family… My friends… My village… They suffered the same fate as this village, by you Konoha shinobi. How is it fair to only let you people to preach about peace and justice?"_

"_What are you talking about?" He asked in a harsh whisper. _

"_Hi no Kuni and Konoha had grown too big. To protect its national interests, it forced feudal clans to wage war against each other, and profited from it." Pain explained. "Otherwise, the nation and the people of the villages would have starved. However, our nation and its villages became the battlefields for the Great Nation's war. And each time, our nation was ravaged and laid to waste. After all the fighting subsided, things stabilized in the Great Nation. And our little nation was left to suffer the pain and misery."_

_He looked away from the man he hated, unable to defend his village for its past sins. So he stayed silent, and Pain continued. _

"_You and I seek the same thing. We are trying to establish the peace Jiraiya-sensei so desired." Pain's words sunk deep. "You and I are not different at all. We each act according to our own sense of justice. The justice I delivered to Konoha is no different to what you are trying to do to me. The pain of losing someone dear to you is the same. And both of us know that pain all too well." He still couldn't say a word. He couldn't speak out against Pain… the man… he was right… "You have your justice… And I have mine. We are both ordinary men, driven to seek vengeance under the banner of justice. However, if there is justice in vengeance, then justice will only breed more vengeance."_

_The next words pain would speak would resonate within him, effecting how he perceived the world thousands of years later, and through knew eyes. _

"_And trigger a cycle of hatred." _

_He looked at pain with curious, narrowed eyes, and listened as the man continued, too enraptured in his words to feel the pain coursing through his hands. _

"_We are living in the middle of such a phenomenon right now. We know what the past has been and we can predict what the future will be. That is history as we know it. So we cannot help but believe that human beings are incapable of understanding each other. The world of shinobi is ruled by hatred."_

_Words spoken to him by the sage before him rushed through his mind. A promise he made to Jiraiya… that if the old pervert could not find peace… then he would…_

"_How would you confront this hatred, in order to create peace?" Pain asked. "I want to hear your answer. _

_He was silent for a moment, closing his eyes. When he finally reopened them, he spoke in a defeated tone. "I don't have an answer… to something like that." _

_The wind became heavy, ushering in a brief silence between the two. And then, Pain began. _

"_I formed the Akatsuki in order to stop this cycle of hatred. I can put an end to it."_

* * *

It had been a week since the King declared open war with the House Greyjoy. Things were moving quickly. Ravens had already been sent to the North, requesting the only man Robert trusted just as much as Jon, Eddard Stark, to gather his men and march for the Iron Islands. And the King's own brother, Stannis Baratheon, was preparing the fleet. It would be a cold day in the seventh hell before Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm let some upstarts win a damned rebellion against him. The Ironborn wanted blood, so he'd drown them in their own crimson. House Lannister, House Tully, and House Tyrell all added their support for the war, as they were expected to, and pledged their metal to and men to him, their King.

Currently, Robert was in his son's chambers, watching Lyanna's child – his child – as the Silent Sisters cared for him with reverence. They were gentle with him, like he was a delicate flower. It made him sick to see his boy in such a condition. His son was born a King, the sun and the moon were his. He deserved to run as much as he wanted, through fields, with people bowing to him as he went by. That was what his son should be doing, not lying in a bed, unable to wake up due to a whore-born bastard.

Just thinking about all of this reinforced his decision of declaring war on the Iron Islands. He'd show the world what would happen if anyone tried to take what little of Lyanna he still had left away from him. He was going to bathe in Ironborn blood soon.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Yes? Who is it?" he shouted at the closed door.

"Your Grace, apologies, but we have received word from Lannisport." The voice of the Grand Maester sounded out. From the corner of his eye, Robert saw Cersei – who still hadn't left the room for whatever reason – perk in interest.

"Come in." he commanded. The door opened, and Pycelle entered.

"Your Grace." He bowed to the King. "My Queen." He bowed to the Queen. He then unfurled a piece of paper, an obvious letter sent by raven. "Your Grace, it would seem that the Greyjoy traitors have raided Lannisport and destroyed the Lannister fleet. Apparently, they set every ship aflame." Cersei narrowed her eyes, anger within her pretty orbs. She knew that her younger brother, Tyrion – a beast, rather – was in Lannisport. With luck, he was burnt along with the ships.

"Those little cunts move fast, I'll give them that." Robert replied, looking at his son one last time before sighing. He then stood, taking hold of his rather large sword as he moved. "Alright." He started before leaving the room. "It's time I go squash those bastards for trying to harm my family." He then looked back at Marcus. "Don't worry, son, I'll finish what you started."

And with that, Robert Baratheon left the room, and would soon leave King's Landing. He had a war to fight.

All the while, Cersei Lannister stayed in the room with her son by marriage, just watching as he moaned and groaned in his deep slumber. She didn't know when or if he would wake, and she wasn't sure what she would do for either outcome. It was safe to say that the Queen was confused.

* * *

His eyes opened, and again, he was met with a blood red moon.

"So that was Pain…" Marcus whispered breathlessly.

"That was a single piece of the puzzle that is known as Pain, yes." Sasuke appeared.

"How is that man responsible for peace? The kind of peace he was speaking about… that can't be real peace, can it?"

"Real? Yes. But it's only temporary. Pain sought to usher in temporary peace between even more temporary war and conflict. He believed that, through shared pain, people could understand each other. And through that understanding, the world could know peace." Sasuke explained.

Marcus was silent for a moment before he blinked. "But he changed… didn't he?" He asked. "I… _he _changed Pain's point of view, right?"

Sasuke smiled. "Yes, he did."

"Who was he?" Marcus asked. "What was his name?"

Sasuke shook his head. "It doesn't work like that, kid." He pointed at the Baratheon. "You have to discover it on your own. I can only tell you what you already know."

Marcus looked at Sasuke in confusion. "But why?" he asked. "Why can't you tell me more?"

Sasuke just sighed. "You still don't get it, do you?" He asked. After Marcus stayed silent, Sasuke continued. "I _am _you, Marcus. Sasuke Uchiha has been gone for many, many years. I am just your mind dealing with something you cannot fully comprehend. I'm nothing but a manifestation of the half you have awakened."

Marcus looked down at his left hand, the moon marking meeting his gaze. "Yin…" he whispered. "How do I have this knowledge, though?"

"Most of the time, we transmigrants won't ever even know what we truly are. The "lucky" ones, ones like me and the one in your memories just now, we can sense it. But you… you're something else entirely. You're able to tap into the memories of those who came before you. You're able to learn from their experience, to see the world that came before through their eyes." Sasuke's eyes met his. "You're the Last Son, and it's your job to fix the world you live in."

"But how?" he asked. "How am I supposed to fix… that?" Marcus knew what his world was like. It was not a pretty place, not in the slightest.

Sasuke smirked. "The second lesson." He pointed at Marcus. "You know what it is…" his eyes bled red, and the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan gazed upon the King of Kings. "Complete it, and the one who brought peace to the old world will help you." He smiled. "You have all of Sasuke Uchiha's memories, his feelings. Use them, just don't let them use you."

Without preamble, Sasuke was gone, leaving Marcus all alone.

"Wait!" he shouted. "You never told me where I am!" his voice echoed in the mass of emptiness.

Nothing replied back, but then, nothing needed to, because the moment the last word left his tongue, he knew…

He knew exactly where he was.

So he spoke the name of this world. Of his world.

"Tsukuyomi."

* * *

Marcus's eyes snapped open in his room in the Red Keep, sitting upright fast. He heard a startled gasp at the end of his bed, so he blinked his eyes, clearing them of the haziness. When his eyes focused, Cersei Lannister, the Queen, was who he was met with.

"Queen Cersei?" he asked in a weak tone. He tried to swallow, but his throat was terribly dry. His eyes roamed his surroundings, and he blinked slowly. "Where's father?" he asked curiously.

Cersei was just silent and still. She didn't move at all, and Marcus swore she didn't blink or breathe. An awkward silence fell over them, but thankfully, it was broken when the door opened, and a Silent Sister walked through, a glass of water in her hand. The moment she walked in, she bowed her head, and she didn't act at all like she was surprised.

The Sister handed him the glass of water, and he took it graciously, slowly but surely downing it. As the cold liquid soothed his rough throat, a second figure walked through the door.

"How are you feeling, child?" The High Septon asked in a gentle, caring voice.

Marcus slowly inhaled, and then exhaled. "Tired." He rasped. "What happened?" he asked.

He noticed that Cersei was still motionless.

"You've been asleep for a week and a half, my Prince." The holy man began. "You, the Queen, and your brother were attacked by Greyjoy traitors, who sought to start their rebellion against the throne by spilling the blood of the King of Kings." Marcus listened the best he could, but it was starting to get more difficult.

"… Arya…" he whispered. "She's… she's really gone, isn't she?" he asked the leader of the Faith.

The High Septon nodded sadly. "Yes, child…" he put his hand on the prince's shoulder. "I am sorry, but she has gone to join the gods now."

Tears threatened to fall down his face, the woman he saw as a mother now gone forever… because of him… "Where's my father?" he asked in such a weak, defeated voice that Cersei almost embraced him. But before her motherly instincts kicked in, the High Septon captured him in a hug.

"Your father has declared war on the Iron Islands, and their "king", Balon Greyjoy." The man felt something wet on his shoulder, but said nothing. "He will return once he has dealt with the traitors."

"No." Marcus whispered, pushing away from the High Septon. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, but his face expressed nothing but murderous intent, so much so that Cersei took a step back. "I will not sit here while my father wages war on my enemies." While the Greyjoy were rebelling to be a separate nation from the Seven Kingdoms, they had targeted Marcus specifically. In his eyes, they had declared war on him, and now he needed to show them why they had made such a terrible mistake.

"What are you saying?" the High Septon asked, though, he already knew the answer.

"I'm saying, your holiness, that I am going to the Iron Islands, and I'm going to make them know pain." Marcus spoke in a deathly tone, and his eyes suddenly changed, the Mangekyo Sharingan greeting the people in the room.

Cersei suddenly found it hard to breathe, and her legs shook. She felt sheer terror, and in that moment, she felt like she was going to die. It was as if a pressure had fallen on them all, and no one but Marcus, and strangely the High Septon, didn't shake in fear.

Then, the pressure vanished…

Along with Marcus Baratheon…

He was just… gone… He was there one moment, and then…

He was gone.

* * *

**Author's Note's: **Next chapter, shit is going to go down… I think. (Hopefully.)

I thought this was perfectly clear, but for those of you who aren't absolutely positive, I'll say it right out. Marcus is NOT Naruto, or Sasuke. He is an OC, who will have some characteristics of both, and similar abilities. I'm not sure what Marcus looks like, that's up to the reader. He has black hair, and skin similar to Sasuke. In my mind, I see him as Menma (black-haired Naruto from the movie), just less Japanese, and without the whiskers. But then, in certain scenes, I see him as Sasuke, but again, less Japanese. But since I don't have a definite look for him, use your imaginations. He can look like anything you want him to, within reason. He's a good looking kid, no doubt. I couldn't, in my right mind, give everyone's favorite Mother of Dragons an ugly pairing, now could I?

Please review. The more reviews, the more I want to write.

Question: What was your favorite thing to watch as a little kid? (Mine was Power Rangers!)

Fact: I'm single at the moment. So, "All the single ladies, all the single ladies, put your hands up!" Hahaha… I'm a dork. (I'm hella listening to that song right now.)


	4. Pain Cometh

**Author's Note's: **Holy cow, I've never had so many reviews/favorites/followers before at the beginning of a story like this. Keep it up, guys!

I know it's been a while since I updated this story, but try to understand that I have four active stories, I beta for a friend of mine, and I just recently got my internet connection back. That, combined with school and trying to get a job makes my writing time little to none. I'm trying, I promise, so just hang in there.

You should all go check out **The Colors of Darkness** by **Dreaming of the Sky**. Pretty good story, there. Also, I'm kinda co-writing a story with the author ShoredKafka. It's a Naruto x Inheritance Cycle crossover featuring Hashirama Senju. You might like it, so go take a look. It's called **A Fallen God Rises** by **ShoredKafka**. I just got started, so the first chapter (which is the prologue) is purely ShoredKafka, but I will be helping him write it from now on. It's an interesting idea to say the least.

Special thanks to my beta, Dreaming of the Phoenix.

* * *

The Last Son

Chapter Four – Pain Cometh

* * *

The Lannister fleet was gone, set aflame by Euron and Victarion Greyjoy, brothers of Balon. Lannisport had been raided, giving the Ironborn freedom to both launch an attack against Seagard, seat of House Mallister on Ironman's Bay, and raid the coastline. It was a clever, extremely tactical move no doubt devised by Euron Greyjoy. The man was a strategic genius, and had proven himself such in multiple battles. If Seagard was lost, the enemy's morale would skyrocket, and the Iron Throne would look incompetent. While Robert was considered King of Westeros by the majority population, some still thought him nothing but a usurper. Losing so many battles to one of his own kingdoms made him look weak, and if there was one thing Robert wasn't, it was weak.

"Are you absolutely sure that Jason Mallister is prepared for battle?" Robert asked his squire, a young Baratheon – one of his many cousins, probably – who was chosen for the job. He had the boy, James was his name, send a raven to Seagard, warning them of the coming enemy.

"Yes, Your Grace." James replied. "We received word from them yesterday. They are fully prepared for an attack. If the Ironborn try to take Seagard, they will surely parish." James seemed like a confident young man, and fit for war. He was the perfect person to squire for the king.

"They'd better be." He said lowly. He didn't have time for unprepared Lords. Stannis, his younger brother and Master of Ships, was already sailing in the Sunset Sea, and would most likely meet the Ironborn fleet somewhere just off the coast of Fair Isle. Robert knew his brother, and even though he didn't much love or remotely care for the man, he knew that he was a decent commander. The Ironborn fleet would be crushed, he knew it.

As James left the king to tend to his other duties, Robert sighed, closing his eyes so that he could better feel the waves that washed up against the ship they were on. Despite his outwardly appearance, he was worried. Sure, he enjoyed war, _almost_ more than anything, but even _more_ than anything, he loved his son, Lyanna's son. Even after all these years – it almost staggered him when he realized that it had been a decade – his heart still belonged to Lyanna Stark, to Marcus's mother. It terrified him, though, because with each passing day, it was harder and harder to remember her beautiful face. He had tried to drown himself in whores and wine, but whenever he saw Marcus look at him with those big, black eyes, all he could see was Lyanna, looking at him in sorrow and disappointment.

He chuckled cynically. Even when she was gone, she still chastised him. But that was okay; he still loved her all the same. It was a reminder, a subtle push whenever he looked into his son's eyes. It helped him stay him, to stay Robert Baratheon, the man who would destroy a dynasty for the people he loved. His name would be remembered for centuries, forever, as the man who could and did conquer Westeros for his one true love, for Lyanna.

His son… Marcus hadn't woken up before he left… He didn't know if he was awake yet or not, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever wake. His son was fighting for his life, and Robert wasn't going to let him do it alone. He'd fight, gods, he'd fight. He'd risk his life right alongside his son, and when he charged into battle against these bastard Greyjoys, Marcus would be in his heart and mind, guiding his blade as he painted the earth crimson. This, he would do for his son. He'd do anything for Marcus. Anything.

That's why he had his best men with him. As much as he loathed admitting it, Jaime Lannister was one of the greatest swordsmen the king had ever seen. He was quick, so very quick, and his skill was nearly unmatched. He'd kill many Ironborn for him, he was sure of it. And when Jaime looks at his son, Robert knew there was something there, something very powerful. It smelt of loyalty and fealty, and it was so much more potent than anything the Baratheon could ever inspire. Ned was the only person who ever looked at him with those eyes, eyes that expressed just how much they trusted him. Eddard Stark would march into the Seventh Hell by Robert's side if he so asked. And even though Jaime was a member of the Kingsguard, and swore an "unbreakable" oath to serve and protect him, Robert knew that lion's loyalty was with Marcus, the King of Kings. That kind of loyalty transcended any man-given oath.

And when the king remembered that Marcus hadn't even made it to his tenth nameday yet, he was truly baffled at how incredible his son was. The prophecy about his son wasn't so hard to believe anymore, not when he'd seen everything his son had done already.

Barristan Selmy was said to be the most dangerous man alive, able to simultaneously fight fifty men. He had slain some of Westeros's most dangerous criminals, and fought in more battles than most men could claim to have even seen. He was faster than Jaime Lannister, and his skill was far greater as well. He had more experience than Robert and Ned combined, and he was still in his prime, easily the greatest knight of the realm, even still. That's why he was chosen to be one of the generals of this war, along with the Kingslayer, Eddard Stark, Stannis Baratheon and Tywin Lannister, but the latter was a case of military support more than anything now that his entire fleet was burning in Lannisport. Funds played a crucial role in war, even someone who wasted more gold than entire kingdoms knew this. And the Lannisters were the richest people in Westeros.

"You alright, Robert?" the voice of Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North, spoke out behind him. Ned was like a brother to the king, and the two were raised together under the care of Jon Arryn. If there was one man Robert could trust with his life, it was Ned. Eddard was the most honorable man Robert could truly call friend, and there wasn't a man alive he'd rather go to war with by his side.

"Aye." Robert replied. "Just thinking, is all." He said. His eyes gazed out at the seemingly never ending waters, lost in thought.

"Uh oh…" Ned began. "Careful with that, Your Grace. The last time you had that look in your eye, we ended up killing every Targaryen in Westeros…" Robert was terrifyingly good at war, and even better at killing things. If he was properly motivated, he could do anything.

"Not all of them…" he said casually. He hated the Targaryens, every last one of them, but he was too busy worrying about his son to care about children who had just barely escaped with their lives nine years ago.

"What's on your mind?" Ned asked. The Warden of the North had dropped everything when he received word of the Greyjoy's treason. Marcus was his sister's child, and his nephew. He loved the boy almost as much as his own children, even though he had yet to meet him. Robert didn't even have to ask Ned if he'd join the war. All he sent with the raven was: _The Ironborn tried to assassinate Marcus. I'll see you soon. _That was it. No royal order, no call of duty, not even a plea, nothing. With those ten words, Eddard Stark assembled his house guard, and met with the king's forces just outside Blackwater Bay. Even if Marcus hadn't been born in the North, he was still _of _the North. He was still family. And no one _fucked _with the North. No one.

"I miss her…" Robert spoke. "I miss Lyanna more than I know how to deal with." He had a faraway look on his face. "I promised to take care of our son, Ned. I promised I'd keep him safe, and I couldn't even do that right." His hands tightened, turning into fists. "They tried to hurt him in my own backyard." He finally looked at the Warden of the North. "And you want to know the worst thing?" He asked. "My son had to witness the death of the woman he secretly called mother. He thought I had no idea, but I did. I've heard him call that woman, Arya, his mother more times than he's said Lyanna's name. And they killed her, in front of him." He looked away, ashamed. "I wasn't meant to be a father, Ned… not without her, not without Lyanna keeping me in check. I hate all of this. I hate being king; I hate my wife and our children. I hate King's Landing and I hate all of Westeros. I hate the gods, the old and the new…" he shook his head. "I hate everything, everything except that boy, and I can't even keep him safe…"

Ned had just listened to his friend as he got everything off his chest. Ned knew Robert didn't ever share his feelings with anyone, not even him, but he also knew that a man needed to say certain things sometimes, and he would be the much needed ear for the man he called brother. He didn't mention the fact that his daughter, who was extremely close to her second nameday, was also named Arya.

The king continued. "I wasn't even there when he first wielded a sword, or took his first steps. I'm failing the one person I actually want to give the world to, and I can't seem to stop. I'm slowly losing him, I know I am, and once I no longer have Marcus, I won't have anyone." He chuckled bitterly. "I'll truly be all alone in this shit excuse for a world." Sure, he had two living brothers, and a wife and two other children, but all of them meant nothing to him. It was a sad thing to admit, but Robert was not a liar.

The two men who had utterly destroyed the Mad King and his entire army were silent for a moment, just watching the sun as it set on the horizon, leaving them so that the moon could illuminate them.

Before they could continue, the voice of the king's squire, James Baratheon, was heard, his tone urgent. "My King!" he shouted, holding something. "My King, if it pleases you, a raven from King's Landing arrived!" Robert span so fast he surprised Ned for a moment. Eddard had seen the man move so fast since they were in the heart of enemy territory during their rebellion.

Robert took the message from James and read it, white-hot anger increasing by the letter.

_Your Grace, Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,_

_It brings me, Jon Arryn, Head of House Arryn and Hand of the King great pleasure to inform you that your son, Prince Marcus Baratheon, has awoken from his slumber a fortnight ago, perfectly healthy and cognitive. We would have reached word sooner, but it would seem the prince has disappeared. His last words were to the High Septon and Queen Cersei Lannister. He proclaimed that he would make the Iron Islands know pain. Whether this was an empty threat or not, we have not been able to locate the prince._

_Be well, Robert, and may The Seven watch over you._

A rather long message, and not what Robert was expecting. "A fortnight?" he asked, incredulous and outraged. "My son has been up for a fortnight, and I'm just hearing about this now?" Ned hadn't seen this kind of rage on Robert's face since he learned Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped Lyanna.

"Let me see it, Robert." Eddard held out his hand, and accepted the parchment when Robert all but slammed it into his hand. Reading the message, Ned nodded. "I see…" he then looked at the king. "Jon probably wanted to find him first before he gave you the news." He could still see the storm in the king's eyes, proving he was truly a Baratheon. "Calm down, Robert. We'll find him, I swear it."

"How, Ned!?" Robert shouted. "How can you promise me something like that!?" his voice was so loud Eddard could feel it vibrating off his sword.

"He is a Stark and a Baratheon, in case you forgot." Ned said seriously. The wolf locked gazes with the stag. "Just ask the Targaryens, we're bloody stubborn. Marcus will be fine if what you say about the incident in the gardens is true." Eddard Stark didn't know what to think when he learned about Marcus's exploits in what was now being called the Stranger's Meadow, but he also knew that Ser Barristan Selmy was a good man, an honorable man, and he would never lie to the king about such matters. Ned's own father had spoken highly of Selmy, and the Warden of the North never knew his father to be wrong.

As the last rays of light slipped past the waterline, Robert just looked to the darkening skies. "I hope you're right, Ned. I really do…"

Ned had never heard such a gentle, vulnerable tone from the brute named Robert Baratheon, and he didn't know how to react to it. So, he did the only thing he could, he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder and nodded, watching as the uncountable stars began to grace them with their presence.

* * *

He was so fast... faster than any ordinary man could possibly hope to move. Such speed was inhuman, and that's what he felt like as he moved as fast as the wind, inhuman.

_One_

His body just moved on its own accord. He was moving faster than their inferior eyes could see, their men dropping before they knew what was even going on.

_Two_

They had burnt the Lannister fleet so successfully that they grew arrogant, and arrogance was the downfall of the weak. And oh did they fall, like flies after their brief existence was at its end.

_Three_

They didn't have any idea what hit them. They had been making their way up the shore to the walls of Seagard, ready to take the seat of House Mallister. Led by their "king's" son, Rodrik Greyjoy, they felt invincible… that was, of course, until their men began to fall, dead before they hit the wet sand. Something was there, with them, slaying them like they were cattle.

_Four_

Some tried to flee… they were the first to die painfully. The rest wanted to fight, they wanted to face this threat head on in the name of their false king, but they simply could not. How could you fight what you could not see?

_Five_

A glimpse here, a shadow there, this was all "Prince" Rodrik Greyjoy could catch as his men were all slaughtered before him, their lives ended before they even knew they were injured. This wasn't a battle, or war. Battles and wars meant two sides fighting for a goal, both having some chances of success. No… this was murder, slaughter… this was the epitome of terror.

_Six_

When the bell in the Booming Tower rang the sixth and final time, Rodrik realized, with no small amount fear and anxiety, that he was the last. He was the last man standing, the rest were just… gone. Five hundred men… He had come here with five hundred men… if he had the time, he would have known that nearly two hundred of those men were lying on the bloodied sand, gone from this world for eternity. The rest were running towards the sea, preferring to chance survival and swim in the pitch black waters of the night rather than die at the hands of a shadow.

"Tell me, _Prince_ Rodrik…" a voice that sounded very young and very cold spoke behind him.

"Are you afraid yet?"

* * *

"The Greyjoy are traitors to the crown and have already committed multiple acts of treason against the Iron Throne and royal family, including the attempted assassination of Prince Marcus Baratheon." Jason Mallister, Head of House Mallister and Lord of Seagard spoke to his men. They were all wearing full armor, armed with weapons of war, ready to face the coming battle. "King Robert has graciously warned us of the Greyjoy forces who are planning to take Seagard from us." Jason narrowed his eyes. "Let's show these bloody traitors what we're made of!"

A roar of agreement and loyalty sounded out, the men ready to crush the Greyjoy scum. Jason Mallister, the Lord of Seagard, was a charismatic, strong leader, who had earned his position and titles, being the youngest of his father's sons. He was an exceptional swordsman, and his forces knew it. They would charge into battle next to him not because they were bound to his House, but because they trusted in his leadership and individual skills. He was an excellent commander, and they would all show the Greyjoy they weren't to be trifled with.

When the great gate opened, and the men loyal to House Mallister poured out of the large castle walls, ready to face their enemy, they hadn't expected to see… _this…_

Bodies littered the shore like stars in the sky, the sands turned red. The moon lit the darkness of the night, showcasing the bloodshed like the owner of a whorehouse did with his women. And in the wake of the fallen, a boy stood, wearing the blood of his enemies like it was war paint, a man kneeling before him, his collar within the boy's grasp.

Jason had seen war before. He had seen the kind of violence men could inflict on one another. He'd seen hundreds of dead, motionless bodies in his lifetime, yet, he'd never seen a sight as truly frightening yet simultaneously beautiful in his entire life. It was like art, the perfect piece of the world today.

It was blood and bone, the perfect cacophony of chaos and war.

The boy leaned down, whispering something in the man's ear, a man Jason recognized as Rodrik Greyjoy, the firstborn son and heir of Balon Greyjoy. Rodrik's eyes widened when he heard what the child had said, and tried to cry out, tried to beg for his miserable existence. But his pleas fell on deaf ears, because mercy was not shown to the man.

The boy slowly slid a small dagger through Rodrik Greyjoy's throat, ending his life. Jason did not miss how the boy kept his eyes on Rodrik's as his life slipped away.

"L-Lord Mallister…" one of Jason's men whispered from his right. "What… is going on?" he asked.

Jason was just silent, watching as the boy took his dagger from the now dead Greyjoy heir's throat, placing it in a bag that was tied to the back of his waist. The boy then turned his head towards them, and that's when the Lord of Seagard saw them.

The eyes that was black atop crimson. Those eyes glowed in the night, staring at them as if they could see through their souls. The fear of god was struck within Jason Mallister that night. Whatever god it was, he wasn't sure, and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know, but that night, Jason Mallister became a religious man.

And he knew exactly who this boy who had eyes that terrified grown men was. He was their prince, their "King of Kings". He was Marcus Baratheon, firstborn son of King Robert.

The look on Marcus's face was cold, like steel. He turned to the sea, his eyes gazing at the hundreds of frightened men who tried to get away by actually _swimming _away. Jason and his men witnessed the boy _jump_, leaping several hundred feet in the air over the sea. He then…

"I-Is he…" another of Jason's men tried to begin…

Marcus _landed _on the water, standing atop it, as if he were on solid ground. The boy was walking on water like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Crouching, the young prince then touched a single finger to the water, his pointer, and was still for a moment, listening to the screams of the multiple men all around him. Some cursed him, some pled for their lives, some prayed to their gods, both asking to be saved and forgiven for their past sins. None of their words matter, though. Their gods turned from them that night, unwilling to look upon the boy who would soon be able defy the very laws of the world. Nothing they said would reach their gods, and they'd all be gone soon.

Marcus then told them what he had told Rodrik Greyjoy. "Know pain." He whispered. He then sent a wave of _lightning _through the water.

The men of Seagard watched as the Ironborn traitors were _electrocuted_, a word most of them didn't even know. Blue light shone, flashing in the darkness, lighting up the sea. The crackle of the lightning was heard by everyone, and the smell of burnt and crisp flesh was strong.

Marcus then turned back to face Jason Mallister and his guard, their eyes locking gazes. And then, Marcus Baratheon flickered out of existence, gone with the wind.

Every soul there would remember what they had seen until the day they took their last breath, and it wasn't because the bell in the Booming Tower had rang for the first time in three hundred years.

They had seen the Child of Prophecy for the first time that night, and the birth of a living legend.

Marcus of the Red Sand was born, his moniker given to him for his exploits that night at Seagard, where he dyed the sands red with the blood of those who would dare oppose him.

* * *

"Have you heard, Barristan?" Jaime Lannister asked Barristan Selmy, the two "true knights" of King Robert's Kingsguard sailing in the dead of night. Jaime and Barristan had been the only Kingsguard to survive Robert's Rebellion. After the war was over, the rest of the "eternal" order had been filled with the unwanted guidance of politics, men chosen who weren't particularly skilled or at all honorable, to please some of the noble families. It was idiotic, but most of the time politics was involved, things were seldom logical.

"I heard this afternoon…" Barristan replied to his fellow Kingsguard. Barristan did not agree with Jaime's actions concerning the "Mad King", seeing his act of dirtying his sword with the blood of a king he swore to serve as dishonorable, but he still very much respected him. Jaime was a once in a lifetime swordsman, a man in his own league. Such prodigy was rarely discovered, and Barristan could look past the young man's previous oath-breaking ways, so long as he served their new king with diligence. "It worries me that I'm not more surprised or shocked." He added.

Jaime took a seat in the small quarters that were just for their use below the deck of the ship they sailed on. They were the generals of this war, and were being sent to subdue Old Wyk for the king, meaning, if Stannis Baratheon could destroy the Ironborn fleet and subdue Great Wyk, would pave the way for the Iron Throne to siege Pyke, the seat of House Greyjoy.

"That's exactly what I thought as well…" Jaime replied. He knew how Barristan felt; he had felt the same thing when he was informed. He sighed. Their quarters were small, the beds were uncomfortable, and the entire ship was chilling to the bone. It was the perfect setting for war. "Five hundred men…" the lion whispered breathlessly, shaking his head in disbelief and awe. "I don't think I've killed five hundred men in my entire life…"

Barristan nodded, agreeing with Jaime's inclination. Five hundred men was a _lot _of men, an entire army, by some standards, certainly enough to take a castle. "He's the real deal, our Marcus." Barristan began. "I have a feeling that this is just the beginning…" They had received a messenger raven that afternoon from Seagard, informing everyone what had subsequently transpired. They had explained that, before they could even begin, the battle had been over, already in their favor. The Greyjoy forces – five hundred strong – had been slaughtered, ruthlessly massacred by "Marcus of the Red Sand", so named for "painting the sands of their shores red with traitor blood". Words like "magic" and "god-like" were being thrown around, and both Jaime and Barristan knew the king would either be relieved or furious – maybe even both. Robert was oddly gentle and caring with Marcus, and while he'd be extremely impressed with his son's achievement, he'd also be worried for the lad. Death and war were not child's play; it had severe psychological effects on one's conscious. He didn't want to lose his son to madness – it would have been the ultimate irony, seeing as how he rebelled against a king filled with madness.

"If he's angry enough to rush into war, then I think you're right." Jaime began. "He's not finished yet, not by a long shot." Barristan saw understanding in the young knight's eyes. "Arya was the most precious person in his life. When his father wasn't there, she was, always at his side. She was like the mother he never had, and they took that from him." A hard look entered the "Kingslayer's" eyes, and Barristan knew exactly what that look was. "They slit the woman he saw as a mother's throat, in front of him." Jaime shook his head. "He's not going to stop until they've paid him back. Blood for blood, that's the only currency that matters to him right now. His new moniker is appropriate, if unimaginative."

Barristan chuckled softly, nodding his head. "You know… I received "Barristan the Bold" when I was only ten years old." He reminisced. "I was trained in the art of combat since before I could walk. It was my life. And when I was ten, I decided I was ready to prove to Westeros that House Selmy – just a small, servant House – could be more than simple servants." Jaime listened with interest, always wondering how the man he was a squire for when he was just sixteen, when Barristan earned his incredible fame by slaying the leader of the Kingswood Brotherhood, Simon Toyne, earned his epithet. "I disguised myself as a knight, and I actually jousted with a Targaryen prince."

"Let me guess," Jaime began, "You knocked the prince off his high horse, and were named a knight for your "bold" behavior?" He asked.

Barristan just laughed. "Oh, if only life was so dramatic." He replied. After he stopped laughing so hard, be explained. "That prince showed me just how valuable experience was by knocking me off my horse with relative ease." He admitted. "I was given "Barristan the Bold" for getting back up and asking to go again." He chuckled. "God, I loved it all. I loved fighting, every kind of it. I was good at it, at war and battle, like our current king. But the older you get, and the more experience you attain, you start to hope that war never happens again. There's too much bloodshed, and with experience, you realize that life is more important than glory, and much more vital than we know."

"It sounds like you dream of peace, Ser Barristan," Jaime said, "A world without war."

After a small pause, Barristan nodded. "Yes." The older man replied. "Peace sounds nice…" But he knew that peace was as foreign as concepts could be. Even when they weren't at war, death and corruption ran free all around the world.

Suddenly, without preamble, the space between them and the door began to distort, causing both Jaime and Barristan to draw their swords. They watched with no small amount of awe as a single figure began to emerge from the "swirl" in the air, twisting in impossible ways as the very air itself spit the man out. They were silent as the man finally appeared, clad in a full length black cloak, red clouds decorating it. The man had a strange mask covering his entire head, like a helm. It was unlike any helm either Barristan or Jaime had ever seen, though. It was completely white, with three commas decorating black ripples that spread over the mask, two of which were how the man saw the world through. The design on the helm… it was the same as Marcus's crimson eyes before that day in the Stranger's Meadow.

"A world without war…" the man began in a deep, menacing voice. "This is what you seek, Ser Barristan?"

Jaime narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" the Kingslayer asked. "And why have you boarded our ship?" He then remembered how the man just appeared in their room. "Better yet, _how _did you board our ship?"

"Trivial questions, Ser Jaime." The man replied, surprising Jaime a great deal. He wasn't used to people speaking to him with such respect. Usually, everyone confronted him like he was nothing but the "Kingslayer". "What I seek is much more important."

"He asked your name…" Barristan said. He didn't know why, or how, but this man felt oddly familiar. And the fact that he could stand so relaxed in front of Barristan the Bold meant he was either crazy or very, very confident.

"I am what I wish to end. I am what will end. I am what no man, no matter how powerful, can escape." The man's tone was dark and ominous. "I am what even fearless men are terrified of. I am God." The man explained. "I am Pain."

Barristan and Jaime narrowed their eyes, observing this self-proclaimed god as he stood before them. "And what do you want with us?" Barristan asked. His hand still had a firm grip on his sword, and his positioning made him capable of both attacking and defending on a moment's notice.

The man who called himself Pain was silent for a moment; the quiet washing over the rest of the room like it would overwhelm them. Then, Pain spoke, delivering his message onto the knight's.

"I'm going to make the world know peace through pain." He stated. "And you two are going to help me do that." He added as he slowly began to remove his mask.

The moment the two members of the Kingsguard saw what laid behind Pain's mask, all they could do was gasp and stare wide-eyed.

* * *

Mary, a woman in her early thirties, sighed. The wind played with her waist-length, black hair as she walked through the streets of Flea Bottom. She wasn't a particularly poor woman; her father had left her his money when he passed away. And while her father didn't have as much money as noble families, he had saved up a large enough sum that allowed her to buy a small house in King's Landing, and paid for her meals for a few months, enough time to allow her to find work.

And she had. Mary was an assistant of a rather prestigious blacksmith named Tobho Mott. He was somewhat bitter and untrusting, but there was no denying his skill with the hammer. She herself knew absolutely nothing about blacksmithing, but, fortunately, that was not a requirement for her job. She was expected to take care of his financial paperwork, keeping his finances and requests organized. She would also fetch the man tea or dinner occasionally, but only when he was working for hours without rest, and she took it upon herself to look after her boss.

Tobho didn't like her at first, something about her being "too pretty" to work in his dirty old shop. But after he got used to having her around, they got along just fine. And Marry was thankful for that. She needed this job, and she liked Tobho – after he stopped yelling at her every time she got something wrong. It was a small occupation, but she enjoyed it. She wasn't in it for the money, she just needed to survive.

"We just can't afford to hire anyone else." Mary repeated for the fifth time. "You don't take enough jobs to do much of anything after you buy the materials you need to forge." She explained again. Tobho was the kind of person that needed things explained to him multiple times before he actually understood.

With a great sigh, the blacksmith rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, yeah… It's hard to get customers when it's not wartime." He snorted. "Damn peace! Unprofitable, child, that's all peace is, I swear!" he snarled. "Oh well, I'll just figure something else out then…" he said. "You can go ahead and leave for the day; I'm closing shop early today."

Mary nodded. With an elegance someone of her status had no business attaining, Mary rose from her seat, ready to head out for the day. She was, however, stopped when someone walked into their establishment.

"We're closed for the-" Tobho started, but immediately stopped. "H-High Septon?" the blacksmith stuttered.

Mary's eyes widened. She had never met someone of such importance in her entire life. His white robes and noble demeanor alone was enough to make Mary feel like an insect beneath his feet. The man was tall, and his entire aura spoke of confidence and, strangely, humility.

"I apologize for coming unannounced." The High Septon spoke.

"Don't be silly, your holiness!" Tobho exclaimed. "The leader of the Faith is always welcome here. What is it you wish of my humble skills, if I may ask?"

The High Septon smiled before pointing at Mary. "Ah, it is actually the young woman I wish to speak to, if that is alright with you?"

Silence and confusion filled the shop, with all eyes falling on the woman who had no idea what was going on at the moment.

"M-Me?" Mary asked, incredulous.

Nodding, the High Septon walked over to the woman and smiled. "I have been waiting to meet you for many years, child." Mary stood stiff and still, not understanding why someone like the leader of the Faith would ever want to meet someone like her. "Come," the holy man spoke, "we have much to discuss."

* * *

"Are you sure, High Septon?" one of the Most Devout asked. The High Septon had called a gathering, requesting all the Septs and Septas, Most Devout and the Silent Sisters to attend. "Are you truly sure this is what The Seven wish?" They were within the Great Sept of Baelor, in a place only the highest of believers and followers could enter. Not even the king had stepped foot in this room, where Baelor was said to have been graced by the presence of The Seven.

The High Septon, who was a tall man with light, dimming red-white hair that fell to his shoulders, smiled. He was a man so wise; he was chosen to be the High Septon from outside the Most Devout, something that rarely occurred.

"I am sure, my faithful friends." The holy man began. "This is the way it is to be." A gentle, knowing smile graced his face, and his robes were almost as pristine as the day he received them, which was strange, considering he spent a lot of his days in the poverty-stricken areas of King's Landing, such as Flea Bottom. "The Seven have told me so themselves." He finished. This man, this High Septon was special, for he had prophecies and visions. The Seven _spoke _through him, they had all seen it. He was the one to foretell the coming of the King of Kings, and he was the reason it had spread as far as beyond the wall.

"But to elect a simple common woman…" Septa Unella, a member of the Most Devout, spoke out. "Why would The Seven choose such a lowly peasant to succeed you? Why not one of us? Are we the highest ranking clergy for no reason?" Unella was an outspoken woman, not afraid to say what everyone was thinking.

"Have you already forgotten that I was also a simple commoner, Septa Unella?" The High Septon asked. Unella opened her mouth to retort, but fell short, unable to think of anything. "The Most Devout help govern and council The Faith, your positions are most definitely necessary and crucial for the upkeep of our god." He explained. "But we are men and women, and corruption can still sink its claws into us all." He continued. "Our plight is difficult, but we are expected to overcome the obstacles that are here to test of faith."

"But a woman?" another of the Most Devout asked. "There has never been a female High Septon. Ever." His name was Sept William. Everyone knew that he was a good, faithful man, but looked at women as inferior people. In his eyes, a woman could never lead the Faith of the Seven.

"It is not forbidden for a woman to hold my position, Sept William." The High Septon began. "Three of the aspects of The Seven are female, as you well know." Sept William narrowed his eyes and turned his head away, he, too, silenced by the lack of response. "The Seven have chosen the person they wish to lead their followers. It has already been decided."

"But why must you step down?" Sept Walter of the Most Devout asked.

The High Septon just smiled at the youngest member of the Most Devout. Sept Walter was young, but he was extremely loyal and his faith was firm, which was a major reason he was brought into the order.

"Worry not, friend." The High Septon replied. "The Seven have called for me." Hushed whispers rang out through the dim lit room. After a moment, there was silence once again.

"Are you saying that The Seven have called upon you to join them in the heavens?" Septa Unella asked skeptically. "Careful, your holiness, you are beginning to sound fanatical. We overlook your claims of being a prophet because you showed us proof." She crossed her arms, narrow eyes pointed at the man who controlled the Faith. "What proof do you have to support these claims?"

Curious eyes fell upon the "mouthpiece of The Seven", and the entire room was as silent as a crypt. With the stares of all his people, the High Septon smiled again.

"As you are all well aware, the Child of Prophecy, Marcus Baratheon, not only summoned, but _commanded _the Stranger in His Meadow."

"So says Jaime Lannister and the Queen." Sept William replied. "But how can we take the word of an oath-breaker and a _woman _who has no love for her husband?"

"Because the Stranger has told me so, Sept William." The High Septon spoke, surprising everyone. "He has come to me, whispering into my ear what is to come."

"Again," Septa Unella began, "what proof have you?" she asked.

"That is why I have called you all here today, my friends." The most holy man in Westeros began. His eyes began to gaze at everyone present, from the Septs and Septas to the Silent Sisters, and from the Silent Sisters to the Most Devout. "The Stranger, who is neither male nor female, has pledged itself to the King of Kings." He closed his eyes. "It is with us today, in this very room." It was at this moment that a… strange, cold feeling washed over them all. "The Stranger has come to take me, and speak The Seven's words to us." The feeling grew and grew, until everyone – who had previously been sitting – had to stand, unsure what they were feeling. Something… something was with them in that room. "We are the lucky souls of this world, my friends, for we will all meet the Stranger now…"

With those words said, the aspect of The Seven that represented death and the end of everything was upon them. It took the form of a man, with four mighty arms. It was an ethereal spirit, with eyes that glowed a menacing yellow, its body a dark blue-purple. It was giant, its head almost reaching the ceiling. It hovered over the High Septon like a guardian deity, watching the others like they were enemies.

And then, it spoke…

"**Followers of the Faith,**" its voice was booming, shaking the walls of the Great Sept, "**This one, which embodies death and the end of everything is among you.**" They knew exactly what this ethereal warrior was. "**I, the Stranger, the sword and shield of Marcus Baratheon, the King of Kings, hereby decrees the one called Mary the new High Septon of our Faith. She will lead humanity to the truth, for you live in lies.**"

The Silent Sisters, who were considered servants of the Stranger, fell to their knees, silently weeping for the sight before them. They bowed their heads in reverence.

The Septs and Septas visibly cried tears of happiness, considering themselves blessed.

The Most Devout stood, staring at the Stranger in reverence and respect. Their god was among them – or, an aspect of their god – and they would show their gratitude. This was the greatest gift any of them could ever have been given.

"**Now go,**" the Stranger began again. "**Spread our word, let the world know. Everything is changing, a new era is coming. The time of peace is nigh. The Child of Prophecy is already among you. He will lead you to the new age of peace and harmony.**"

Suddenly, the Stranger disappeared, and the High Septon was gone with him.

But even the loss of their leader didn't hurt them, because he was with The Seven.

And there was much work to be done, starting with finding the woman chosen by The Seven to become the next High Septon.

They had to find the one called Mary.

But first, everyone took a seat, silence reigning supreme within the room. They had just seen the Stranger, had just been _spoken _to by an aspect of their god. Their shock and awe was warranted.

* * *

He looked down on them from atop their own ship, a contemptuous air about him. They hadn't noticed him yet, and they never would. His crimson eyes watched them like a god from the heavens, disgusted with what he saw.

The Sunset Sea raged like something fierce, the waters slamming into the ship like angry giants. They were just off the coast of Fair Isle, he noticed…

A fitting burial ground.

The Greyjoy, the scum that had taken away his mother… they would meet their god this day.

He took a moment to center himself, the agony of retribution – even if divine – weighing heavy on his heart. But he needed this. He _had _to accept the darkness within his soul before he could discover the light. If he didn't… he did not want to become another Sasuke Uchiha…

It was then that the agony vanished, replaced with determination and euphoria. It was time.

From atop the Greyjoy banner that flew strong and proud above the ship's sails, Marcus Baratheon leapt into the air, soaring several hundred feet, before flashing through hand-signs that were foreign yet familiar, and spoke the words of his enemies devastation.

* * *

"We have them on the run, my Lord." Paxter Redwyne announced from behind the King's brother, Lord Stannis Baratheon. The Master of Ships was a brilliant strategist, devising this clever trap for Victarion Greyjoy. They had the on the run, and it was looking like it would be one of the greatest naval battles in history.

"Good." Stannis replied. "Do not let up. This battle is ours."

"Of course, my Lord, we will continue our advance." Paxter said before his eyes widened at something behind the young Baratheon general.

"What is it?" Stannis asked, turning to observe what had struck the fear of the Seven in his right hand man. That's when he saw it…

* * *

"Suiton: Bakusui Shoha (Water Release: Exploding Water Colliding Wave)."

The screams of the Greyjoy brought him strange pleasure as he showed them their god.

A wave of water so massive that it blocked out the moon and stars came crashing down on the men who would bring pain to the King of Kings. The ocean swallowed them up whole, ships and all.

He let the Drowned God take them away.

_And he liked it. _

"Pain cometh, False King."

* * *

**Author's Note's: **Yoooo, the next chapter is going to be so cool I can't even explain how pumped I am to write it!

I have so much planned for this fic it's disgusting, so just be patient and kick back, because this is going to be a Naruto x Game of Thrones crossover you'll never forget.

Please review. Please review. Please review. Oh yeah, and please review!

Question: What are everyone's feelings on Madara and Sekirei? o.O *hint hint cough cough*

Fact: My roommate / aunt got me into Game of Thrones. I used to think it was lame because I didn't like shows that took place in fantasy worlds / old ages. But when we lost internet, she went to her sister's place and downloaded seasons 1-4 for me, and I binged watched the living hell out of it. The fact that we're here is proof enough that I liked what I saw.


	5. Quick Reminder

_**Do not review this update. I will be posting an actual chapter soon. **_

Some of you seem to think I will be adding Madara and Sekirei into this story. You are wrong. That was me asking all of you if it was a good idea for another fic that I was thinking of writing. It has nothing to do with The Last Son, so don't worry.

Thank you, and once again, don't review this update, it will be replaced with an actual chapter soon. You can update then.

Dreaming of the Moon.


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